Poor city man! I pity you, Deep in my heart, I really do. Hearing you say as you did today, "How tiresome to make small towns this way; A man might as well in prison stay, As to travel the country roads, @3I@1 say." Would you like better the city street, The hurrying throng with no thought at all For the men and women who toil and rush Hither and yon at the time-clock's call? Why, man! I woke at break of day, Hearing a lovely cardinal say, "Pretty -- pretty -- pretty, the day is fine, Wake up! Wake up! Oh, friend of mine, Thanks for the meal your hands have spread; Sunflower seeds are my daily bread." Trees are budding, tulips are up Out of snow-covered garden bed -- In a very short time their gorgeous bloom Will be a riot of color red. So let me travel the country way, Friendly trees lining the paths I stray, Leading to joys that are always new, Lovely green meadows and skies so blue; Poor city man, don't pity @3me@1, Your unseeing eyes need @3my@1 sympathy! | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...HERITAGE by GWENDOLYN B. BENNETT THE CLOD AND THE PEBBLE, FR. SONGS OF EXPERIENCE by WILLIAM BLAKE THE HEMLOCK by EMILY DICKINSON THE AMERICAN FOREST GIRL by FELICIA DOROTHEA HEMANS FLAMMONDE by EDWIN ARLINGTON ROBINSON ADVICE TO A LADY [IN AUTUMN] by PHILIP DORMER STANHOPE THE SOBBING OF THE BELLS (MIDNIGHT, SEPT. 19-20, 1881) by WALT WHITMAN |