I chanced upon a new book yesterday; I opened it, and, where my finger lay 'Twixt page and uncut page, these words I read -- Some six or seven at most! -- and learned thereby That you, FitzGerald, whom by ear and eye She never knew, "thanked God my wife was dead." Aye, dead! and were yourself alive, good Fitz, How to return you thanks would task my wits. Kicking you seems the common lot of curs -- While more appropriate greeting lends you grace, Surely to spit there glorifies your face -- Spitting from lips once sanctified by hers. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...THEN LAUGH by BERTHA ADAMS BACKUS LONDON SNOW by ROBERT SEYMOUR BRIDGES SHELTERED GARDEN by HILDA DOOLITTLE THE INDIAN WEED by RALPH ERSKINE EYE-WITNESS by FREDERICK RIDGELY TORRENCE THE UNFORGIVEN by THOMAS BAILEY ALDRICH |