You sullen pig of a man you force me into the mud with your stinking ash-cart! Brother! -- if we were rich we'd stick our chests out and hold our heads high! It is dreams that have destroyed us. There is no more pride in horses or in rein holding. We sit hunched together brooding our fate. Well -- all things turn bitter in the end whether you choose the right or the left way and -- dreams are not a bad thing. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...TWO FUNERALS: 2. by LOUIS UNTERMEYER HOLY POEMS: 1 by GEORGE BARKER EVENING TRAINS by MARY TRUE AYER THE SWORD by MICHAEL JOSEPH BARRY THE WANDERER FROM THE FOLD by EMILY JANE BRONTE FOUR SONGS BY WAY OF CHORUS TO A PLAY: 2. FEMININE HONOURS by THOMAS CAREW TOWARDS DEMOCRACY: PART 4. THE OCEAN OF SEX by EDWARD CARPENTER |