When I was younger it was plain to me I must make something of myself. Older now I walk back streets admiring the houses of the very poor: roof out of line with sides the yards cluttered with old chicken wire, ashes, furniture gone wrong; the fences and outhouses built of barrel-staves and parts of boxes, all, if I am fortunate, smeared a bluish green that properly weathered pleases me best of all colors. No one will believe this of vast import to the nation. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...THE BOTTLES AND THE WINE by GEORGE SANTAYANA UPON THE LOSS OF HIS MISTRESSES by ROBERT HERRICK THE MORAL WARFARE by JOHN GREENLEAF WHITTIER ANYWHERE OUT OF THE WORLD by CHARLES BAUDELAIRE ROMAN ANEMONES by MATHILDE BLIND AFTER A TEMPEST by WILLIAM CULLEN BRYANT |