I DREAMED that, buried in my fellow clay, Close by a common beggar's side I lay, And as so mean a neighbour shocked my pride, Thus, like a corpse of consequence, I cried: 'Scoundrel, begone, and henceforth touch me not; More manners learn, and at a distance rot.' 'How, scoundrel!' in a haughtier tone cried he: 'Proud lump of dirt, I scorn thy words and thee. Here all are equal, now thy case is mine: This is my rotting-place, and that is thine.' | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...GLAMOUR by GEORGIA DOUGLAS JOHNSON GHOSTS OF THE OLD YEAR by JAMES WELDON JOHNSON MY SENSES DO NOT DECEIVE ME by MARIANNE MOORE HOMAGE TO SEXTUS PROPERTIUS: 4. DIFFERENCE OF OPINION WITH LYGDAMUS by EZRA POUND CALIFORNIA CITY LANDSCAPE by CARL SANDBURG UPLANDS IN MAY by CARL SANDBURG HYBRIDS OF WAR: A MORALITY POEM: 3. THAILALND by KAREN SWENSON |