Here where the wind is always north-north-east <br />And children learn to walk on frozen toes, <br />Wonder begets an envy of all those <br />Who boil elsewhere with such a lyric yeast <br />Of love that you will hear them at a feast <br />Where demons would appeal for some repose, <br />Still clamoring where the chalice overflows <br />And crying wildest who have drunk the least. <br /> <br />Passion is here a soilure of the wits, <br />We're told, and Love a cross for them to bear; <br />Joy shivers in the corner where she knits <br />And Conscience always has the rocking-chair, <br />Cheerful as when she tortured into fits <br />The first cat that was ever killed by Care.<br /><br />Edwin Arlington Robinson<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/new-england/
