He has departed by the road, the poor man, summoning up such fortitude as old men can, with little faltering steps counted by trembling cane, he has departed. He will not come again. His constitutional covers no great distance, the dear man. Conservative for eighteen hundred years, none has he wronged, no enemy he fears. He has always led so prudent an existence since Time began. Two rods of road and then a path we trace, a tiny little path, to reconduct the man, the worthy little man, back to his starting place. And why should Fate select as victim of its spleen that honest little man in his little by-path green? He trudges there, he coughs, he spits, he gnaws, he mumbles to himself, he blinks applause, content with all. He roasts his doddering heart in the bright sun's warm beam. He dreams his way through life. He takes no part in strife, and he is happy in his dream. Yes, why should evil Fate have grudged felicity to that good man and wished to do him wrong, when nothing came his peace to mar save that he sometimes trudged too far? Of course there's death the icy breath that solveth all our sums. Ah, death, the broad highway, there one marches long. But bah, is there not this good abbe to graft you on a good little path -- this excellent little abbe who so opportunely comes? | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...REAR-PORCHES OF AN APARTMENT-BUILDING by MAXWELL BODENHEIM ADVICE by WILLIAM HENRY DAVIES ALEC YEATON'S SON; GLOUCESTER, AUGUST, 1720 by THOMAS BAILEY ALDRICH THE LESSER BEAUTY by MARGARET STEELE ANDERSON NATALIA'S RESURRECTION: 3 by WILFRID SCAWEN BLUNT CALLS ON THE HEART by ELIZABETH BARRETT BROWNING EVENING PASTIMES by ALICE CARY |