I KNOW that he told that I snared his soul With a snare which bled him to death. And all the men loved him, And most of the women pitied him. But suppose you are really a lady, and have delicate tastes, And loathe the smell of whiskey and onions. And the rhythm of Wordsworth's "Ode" runs in your ears, While he goes about from morning till night Repeating bits of that common thing; "Oh, why should the spirit of mortal be proud?" And then, suppose: You are a woman well endowed, And the only man with whom the law and morality Permit you to have the marital relation Is the very man that fills you with disgust Every time you think of it -- while you think of it Every time you see him? That's why I drove him away from home To live with his dog in a dingy room Back of his office. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...MILTON; SONNET by HENRY WADSWORTH LONGFELLOW MONNA INNOMINATA, A SONNET OF SONNETS: 2 by CHRISTINA GEORGINA ROSSETTI SIDNEY GODOLPHIN by CLINTON SCOLLARD AT LORD'S [CRICKET GROUND] by FRANCIS THOMPSON HYMN ON SOLITUDE by JAMES THOMSON (1700-1748) ALL THINGS CAN TEMPT ME by WILLIAM BUTLER YEATS A DAISY FROM THE PARTHENON by CHARLOTTE FISKE BATES TO MARY SINTON LEITCH, POET AND FRIEND by WILLIAM STANLEY BRAITHWAITE |