Explore "A Man's Reverie" by Ella Wheeler Wilcox on Textopian. Read with annotations and highlights.
How cold the old porch seems. A dreary chill / Creeps upward from the river at twilight, / And yet, I like to linger here at night, / And dream the summer tarries with us still.
The summer and the summer guests, or guest. / (Men rarely dream in plurals.) Over there / Beyond the pillars, stands the rustic chair, / As bare and empty as a robin's nest.
No pretty head reclines its golden bands / Against the back. No playful winds disclose / Distracting glimpses of embroidered hose: / No palm leaf waves in dainty, dangerous hands.
How cold it is! That star up yonder gleams / A white ice sickle from the heavenly eaves. / That bleak wind from the river sighs and grieves, / Perchance o'er some poor fellow's broken dreams.
Come in, and shut the door, and leave that star / To watch above the lonely portico. / Summer and summer guests and dreams must go. / Well, Fate was kind to leave me my cigar.