Robert Graves: Sorley's Weather

Sorley's Weather

When outside the icy rain   Comes leaping helter-skelter, Shall I tie my restive brain   Snugly under shelter?
Shall I make a gentle song   Here in my firelit study, When outside the winds blow strong   And the lanes are muddy?
With old wine and drowsy meats   Am I to fill my belly? Shall I glutton here with Keats?   Shall I drink with Shelley?
Tobacco's pleasant, firelight's good:   Poetry makes both better. Clay is wet and so is mud,   Winter rains are wetter.
Yet rest there, Shelley, on the sill,   For though the winds come frorely, I'm away to the rain-blown hill   And the ghost of Sorley.