We artists have strange nerves! That man in front of me, I had been hating him Implacably, Just for the lines and curves Of his unconscious face, Lines that brought no disgrace Upon humanity. But when that same man spoke, And with a grunt and wheeze Asked me how many @3cs@1 Had the word "Necessity," The cord of my hatred broke. "For how's a beggar to tell" He said; -- and I loved him for it -- "With a word as long as hell, If no wise blighter tells us?" -- "You are right, my friend. We may score it Over and over with c; But at last it is not we Who spell 'Necessity,' But Necessity who spells us!" He smiled. I smiled. And between Your artist and your drummer Swept, on a breeze of summer, A wave of sympathy; And we even came to wonder Where -- in the name of thunder -- We had met before this scene. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...TO RIDGELY TORRENCE - PLAYWRIGHT by GEORGIA DOUGLAS JOHNSON MONODY ON THE DEATH OF WILLIAM MARION REEDY by EDGAR LEE MASTERS WALT WHITMAN by EDWIN ARLINGTON ROBINSON HYBRIDS OF WAR: A MORALITY POEM: 4. THE MORAL by KAREN SWENSON |