Explore Poems GO!

Heat

Rating: 2.8

From plains that reel to southward, dim,
The road runs by me white and bare;
Up the steep hill it seems to swim
Beyond, and melt into the glare.
Upward half-way, or it may be
Nearer the summit, slowly steals
A hay-cart, moving dustily
With idly clacking wheels.
By his cart's side the wagoner
Is slouching slowly at his ease,

Half-hidden in the windless blur
Read More

READ THIS POEM IN OTHER LANGUAGES
COMMENTS OF THE POEM
Angela Fineblanket 16 September 2009

i need an example of a metaphor in this poem or a onomatopoeia

4 2 Reply

Delivering Poems Around The World

Poems are the property of their respective owners. All information has been reproduced here for educational and informational purposes to benefit site visitors, and is provided at no charge...

7/29/2021 11:11:04 PM # 1.0.0.666