I. A PIN and Needle in a basket lay, Exempt from household labors; And so they fell a-quarreling one day, Like other idle neighbors. II. "Pray, what's the use," the saucy Pin exclaimed, "Of such as you, you noddy? Before fine ladies you must be ashamed To show your headless body!" III. "Who cares about your brazen little head? I hold it in derision; "T is good for naught," the Needle sharply said, "Without an eye for vision!" IV. "Tut!" said the other, piqued at this reply, "What profit do you find it, When any thread, unless you mind your eye, Can in a moment blind it?" V. "If," said the Needle, "what you say were true, I'll leave it to the Thimble, If I am not as bright again as you, And twenty times as nimble." VI. "Grant," said the Pin, "you speak the simple truth, Beyond the slightest cavil, You'll die so much the sooner, -- in your youth, Worn out with toil and travel." VII. "Fie!" said the Needle, "to my Fate I trust; I scorn to be a laggard, And live and die, like you, consumed with rust, Misshapen, old, and haggard"! VIII. Unhappy boaster! for it came to pass The Needle scarce had spoken, When she was taken by an awkward lass, And in the eye was broken! IX. Whereat the Pin (which meets the damsel's view) Around the neck is threaded, And after many struggles to get through, Is suddenly beheaded! X. "Well, here we are!" the Needle humbly said; No more a haughty scorner Of the Poor Pin who shared her lowly bed, -- A dust-heap in the corner. XI. "Yes," said the other, thinking of the past, "I wish in better season We might have learned the lesson which at last Has brought us both to reason!" XII. "Friend," said the Needle, "we are much like men, -- Scornful in sunny weather; And only mindful they are brothers when They're in the dirt together!" | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...WHAT DOES A WOMAN WANT? by KAREN SWENSON CINQUAIN: NOVEMBER NIGHT by ADELAIDE CRAPSEY ARAB LOVE SONG by FRANCIS THOMPSON A RECEIPT TO CURE THE VAPOURS by MARY WORTLEY MONTAGU AN EARNEST SUIT [TO HIS UNKIND MISTRESS NOT TO FORESAKE HIM] by THOMAS WYATT TIPPERARY: 5. BY OUR OWN EUGENE FIELD by FRANKLIN PIERCE ADAMS |