I am a jolly tramp: I whine to you, Then whistles till I meet another fool. I call the labourer sir, the boy young man, The maid young lady, and the mother I Will flatter through the youngest child that walks. In sooth, there's no joy in a poor man's house, Save when the little baby walks or swears; Still do they pity my pretended grief. When, like that fallen oak stripped of its bark, Showing the naked muscles of its limbs Flat on the ground -- I lie with my coat off, Hidden in deep green grass that's high enough To miss a baby in, I pity half the world. If it be summer time, then what care I For naked feet, and flesh through tattered garb? O foolish Pride, discomfort is thy due; That made a savage take an axe to chop His feet that were too large to fit small shoes. What though I read few books, I can read men, And weigh a face for what the heart is worth, Far better than the fools who think they know. So that the sun shines bright, I like to rest All day, to let the body lie in sloth, And make imagination do the work; Such work is sweet, and brings no sweat or ache. Their questions and their pity make me laugh, But idle men can always find excuse. Alas! I do not always laugh: for see How fine was yester morn; the heavens clear; Then came a golden cloud with three dark ones -- Three pirates following a peaceful barque; The heavy rain tugged with its might for hours, And almost pulled the heavens down to earth; And then came torrents, and no jolly tramp Was I, but whined in truth most pitiful. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...THE WHITE PEACOCK by STEPHEN VINCENT BENET THE MIDDLETON PLACE by AMY LOWELL THE EVENING STAR by THOMAS CAMPBELL THE SHADOW ON THE STONE by THOMAS HARDY MISS KILMANSEGG AND HER PRECIOUS LEG: HER MORAL by THOMAS HOOD EPITAPH ON AN ARMY OF MERCENARIES by ALFRED EDWARD HOUSMAN MAKE FRIENDS by ALI IBN ABU TALIB |