O WHAT a strange parcel of creatures are we, Scarce ever to quarrel, or even agree; We all are alone, though at home altogether, Except to the fire constrained by the weather; Then one says, ''Tis cold', which we all of us know, And with unanimity answer, ''Tis so': With shrugs and with shivers all look at the fire, And shuffle ourselves and our chairs a bit nigher; Then quickly, preceded by silence profound, A yawn epidemical catches around: Like social companions we never fall out, Nor ever care what one another's about; To comfort each other is never our plan, For to please ourselves, truly, is more than we can. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...SPOON RIVER ANTHOLOGY: DAVIS MATLOCK by EDGAR LEE MASTERS I COULD TAKE by HAYDEN CARRUTH A DREAM OF JULIUS CAESAR by ROBERT FROST I SING OF LOVE by GEORGIA DOUGLAS JOHNSON SUPREME by GEORGIA DOUGLAS JOHNSON DAT GAL O' MINE by JAMES WELDON JOHNSON |