You sullen pig of a man you force me into the mud with your stinking ash-cart! Brother! -- if we were rich we'd stick our chests out and hold our heads high! It is dreams that have destroyed us. There is no more pride in horses or in rein holding. We sit hunched together brooding our fate. Well -- all things turn bitter in the end whether you choose the right or the left way and -- dreams are not a bad thing. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...CHARLOTTE CORDAY (REVOLUTIONARY TRIBUNAL, JULY 17, 1793) by EDGAR LEE MASTERS DINING-ROOM TEA by RUPERT BROOKE THE FUTURE LIFE by WILLIAM CULLEN BRYANT BUNKER HILL by GEORGE HENRY CALVERT THE SKELETON OF THE FUTURE; AT LENIN'S TOMB by CHRISTOPHER MURRAY GRIEVE TO MY MOTHER SLEEPING by MARY RUSSELL MITFORD THE STAR OF BETHLEHEM by HENRY KIRKE WHITE ODES: BOOK 2: ODE 12. ON RECOVERING FROM A FIT OF SICKNESS IN COUNTRY by MARK AKENSIDE |