The Bench Of Boors

by Herman Melville

　　

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In bed I muse on Tenier's boors,Embrowned and beery losels all; A wakeful brain Elaborates pain:Within low doors the slugs of boorsLaze and yawn and doze again.In dreams they doze, the drowsy boors,Their hazy hovel warm and small: Thought's ampler bound But chill is found:Within low doors the basking boorsSnugly hug the ember-mound.Sleepless, I see the slumberous boorsTheir blurred eyes blink, their eyelids fall: Thought's eager sight Aches—overbright!Within low doors the boozy boorsCat-naps take in pipe-bowl light.

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