A little man dwelt in a little town A little over twenty years ago: He gained a little portion of renown Within the little crowd he used to know. He wed a little maid when he was twenty-one, And later on they had a little son. This little man had little to regret He had but little patience with the weak, When others fell his eyes were never wet, With sinners he had but little time to speak, Instead he went to church a little late, And dropped a little nickel in a little plate. He drank a little coffee now and then, But little stronger liquor passed his lips; He mingled little with Bohemian men: Life's wine he drank in stingy little sips. When stragglers came to him for food or bed, With little pain he shook his little head. He made a little fortune rapidly, By grinding labour out of little arms, And by foreclosing a variety Of little mortgages on little farms. He died—and 'neath the weeping willow bough A little worm is working on him now. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...SPOON RIVER ANTHOLOGY: PAULINE BARRETT by EDGAR LEE MASTERS ON ANOTHER'S SORROW, FR. SONGS OF INNOCENCE by WILLIAM BLAKE THE RUBAIYAT, 1879 EDITION: 13 by OMAR KHAYYAM DEAD MAN'S DUMP by ISAAC ROSENBERG BAYARD TAYLOR by THOMAS BAILEY ALDRICH THEMISTA'S REPROOF by RICHARD BRATHWAITE TO ONE BEYOND DEATH'S PORTALS by ROBERT CARY |