SOMETIMES I wish the railroads all were torn out, The ships all sunk among the coral strands. I am so very weary, yea, so worn out, With tales of those who visit foreign lands. When asked to dine, to meet these traveled people, My soup seems brewed from cemetery bones. The fish grows cold on some cathedral steeple, I miss two courses while I stare at thrones. I'm forced to leave my salad quite untasted, Some musty, moldy temple to explore. The ices, fruit and coffee all are wasted While into realms of ancient art I soar. I'd rather take my chance of life and reason, If in a den of roaring lions hurled Than for a single year, ay, for one season, To dwell with folks who'd traveled round the world. So patronizing are they, so oppressive, With pity for the ones who stay at home, So mighty is their knowledge, so aggressive, I ofttimes wish they had not ceased to roam. They loathe the new, they quite detest the present; They revel in a pre-Columbian morn; Just dare to say America is pleasant, And die beneath the glances of their scorn. They are increasing at a rate alarming, Go where I will, the traveled man is there. And now I think that rustic wholly charming Who has not strayed beyond his meadows fair. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...FAIR HARVARD by GEORGE SANTAYANA FIFTH AVENUE-SPRING AFTERNOON by LOUIS UNTERMEYER BEFORE SEDAN by HENRY AUSTIN DOBSON HOPEFULLY WAITING by ANSON DAVIES FITZ RANDOLPH A RECIPE FOR SALAD by SYDNEY SMITH THE OLD MEN ADMIRING THEMSELVES IN THE WATER by WILLIAM BUTLER YEATS MORNING MIST by MABEL WARREN ARNOLD A MASQUE OF DEAD QUEENS by STANLEY E. BABB FORMALITY AND THE SOUL: 2. JAMES MACNEIL WHISTLER by KARL W. BIGELOW |