I KNOW a man who hunts for snakes, and kills them for their grease. He says 'twill cure rheumatic aches, and make your anguish cease. The doctors say that serpent oil no sort of virtue owns; it will not cure the pains that coil around your joints and bones. But this old gun who kills the snakes has never had a doubt; he says all other cures are fakes, when reptile oil's about. He is so everlasting sure that what he says is true, that even skeptics buy his "cure," to see what it will do. And so it keeps him toiling hard, the keen demand to meet, and he has bought with bullsnake lard a home in Easy street. If you believe in what you sell, have faith in what you say, in that same avenue you'll dwell, upon a future day. If one is not supremely sure that what he has for sale makes all competitors look poor, his eloquence will fail. A man can sell me setting hens, or swarms of bumblebees, or double action fountain pens, or cures for housemaids' knees, if he's convinced that what he sells beats everything around; that sort of salesman's wearing bells, wherever he is found. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...THE GORSE by WILFRID WILSON GIBSON THE NEWLY WEDDED by WINTHROP MACKWORTH PRAED MOTHER'S WORLD by MARGARET H. ALDEN EURIPIDES by ALEXANDER AETOLUS THE LAST MAN: KISSES by THOMAS LOVELL BEDDOES DEEDS UNDONE by GAMALIEL BRADFORD ASOLANDO: HUMILITY by ROBERT BROWNING |