Not even birds fear me: they hop a hop aside, and then hop right back to oats strewn about by horse-heads in bags. Not even cats slink away: they come, climb and tear my shins and my calves, my knees and my hand -- safe from retort. Not even you, Dr. Critic, need trouble to wear your gloves when you bring clean surgical tools for removing my growths. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...ROBERT GOULD SHAW by PAUL LAURENCE DUNBAR BALLADE OF DEAD ACTORS by WILLIAM ERNEST HENLEY LANDSCAPE; TWILIGHT by THOMAS BAILEY ALDRICH ECCLESIASTES: THE LIGHT IS SWEET by OLD TESTAMENT BIBLE OLD VERMONT ROADS by DANIEL LEAVENS CADY |