There's snow on the fields,
And cold in the cottage,
While I sit in the chimney nook
Supping hot pottage.
My clothes are soft and warm,
Fold upon fold,
But I'm so sorry for the poor
Out in the cold.
My clothes are soft and warm, Fold upon fold, But I'm so sorry for the poor Out in the cold. Being sorry for the poor out in the cold. tony
A good example of why Christina Rossetti cannot be considered a serious writer. A child of eight could have written this.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Children age eight these days prefer computer games. Rosetti was a sensitive poetic genius, Ian.