ONCE, on a midnight of rain and gale,
When the windows rattled in the hollow darkness,
I was in the kitchen
Eating cold turkey and cranberry sauce
Frisked from the icebox.
My mind was clear and busy:
Then, I suppose, I came as near as I ever shall
To being ready to write a great poem. . . .
But I lay down on my couch to meditate
And was soon fast asleep.