Clinical thermometer, Infallible barometer, How should I know if sick or well, Were you, my guide, not there to tell? For though I may feel passing ill, Let me behold you tarry still At six good tenths plus ninety-eight -- My symptoms quickly dissipate. While when, though feeling strong and fit, Full ninety-nine I see you hit, My error I'm not slow to own With sigh and languor, plaint and groan. And if, refusing cold to soar, You drop instead to ninety-four, My doubts dissolve, false hopes are sped -- I have proof positive I'm dead! | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...CHAMBER MUSIC: 7 by JAMES JOYCE THE SITTING by CECIL DAY LEWIS WHAT THING A BIRD WOULD LOVE by ROBERT FROST BOOTH'S PHILIPPI by EDGAR LEE MASTERS SPOON RIVER ANTHOLOGY: IMANUEL EHRENHARDT by EDGAR LEE MASTERS SPOON RIVER ANTHOLOGY: WILLIAM AND EMILY by EDGAR LEE MASTERS ASHURNATSIRPAL III by CARL SANDBURG HUFFMAN'S PHOTOGRAPH OF THE GRAVES OF THE UNKNOWN AT LITTLE BIGHORN by KAREN SWENSON |