@3To rest my fagged brain now and then, When wearied of my proper labors, I lay aside my lagging pen And get to thinking on my neighbors; For, oh, around my garret den There's woe and poverty a-plenty, And life's so interesting when A lad is only two-and-twenty.@1 @3Now, there's that artist gaunt and wan, A little card his door adorning; It reads: "Je ne suis pour personne," A very frank and fitting warning. I fear he's in a sorry plight; He starves, I think, too proud to borrow, I hear him moaning every night: Maybe they'll find him dead to-morrow.@1 | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...AQUATINT FRAMED IN GOLD by AMY LOWELL TO A POET, WHO WOULD HAVE ME PRAISE CERTAIN BAD POETS, IMITATORS ... by WILLIAM BUTLER YEATS BROTHER AND SISTER by MARY ANN EVANS THE HOMECOMING by THOMAS HARDY SONNET OF HIS LADY IN HEAVEN by JACOPO DA LENTINO STRANGE MEETINGS: 1 by HAROLD MONRO |