Next year the grave grass will cover us. We stand now, and laugh; Watching the girls go by; Betting on slow horses; drinking cheap gin. We have nothing to do; nowhere to go; nobody. Last year was a year ago; nothing more. We weren't younger then; nor older now. We manage to have the look the young men have; We feel nothing behind our faces, one way or other. We shall probably not be quite dead when we die. We were never anything all the way; not even soldiers. We are the insulted, brother, the desolate boys. Sleepwalkers in a dark and terrible land, Where solitude is a dirty knife at out throats. Cold stars watch us, chum Cold stars and the whores. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...SHE WEEPS OVER RAHOON by JAMES JOYCE THE LOVELINESS OF LOVE by GEORGE DARLEY THE POTATOES' DANCE by NICHOLAS VACHEL LINDSAY THE PHILOSOPHER TOAD by REBECCA S. REED NICHOLS ON THE COLLAR OF MRS. DINGLEY'S LAP-DOG by JONATHAN SWIFT THE LASS THAT MADE THE BED TO ME by ROBERT BURNS |