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...MAGDALEN by GEORGIA DOUGLAS JOHNSON LIFE by SAMUEL TAYLOR COLERIDGE TO HIS MISTRESS OBJECTING TO HIM NEITHER TOYING OR TALKING by ROBERT HERRICK IDYLLS OF THE KING: GARETH AND LYNETTE by ALFRED TENNYSON UNPERFECTED by LOUISA SARAH BEVINGTON THE CEREMONY OF THE PRINTER'S APPRENTICE; A GERMAN MORALITY PLAY by WILLAM BLADES |