NO odds what kind of work you're doing, your friends, with scorn your efforts viewing, will say your wires are crossed; they'll stand around you criticising, and reprimanding and advising, and make your life a frost. You paint your pump, and all your neighbors will come to contemplate your labors, and show you where you're wrong; they'll say your paint is punk in color—it should be gaudier or duller—and kick the whole day long. If you are wise you let them chatter—the words of boneheads little matter, they're worth a cent a ton; and while those words the air are tainting, you keep on painting, painting, painting, until the pump is done. The man who listens to the spieling of critics always hits the ceiling, upon some bitter day; be sure you're right—'twas Davy said it—then go ahead and gain the credit, nor care what neighbors say. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...IN THE CHURCHYARD AT CAMBRIDGE by HENRY WADSWORTH LONGFELLOW MANHATTAN ARMING by WALT WHITMAN UNION SONG by ERNST MORITZ ARNDT DELAY by CHARLOTTE FISKE BATES THE SCHOLAR OF HIS OWN PUPIL; THIRD IDYLLIUM by BION SHEKLA: A VISION by HARRY RANDOLPH BLYTHE A LEGEND OF THE DELAWARES by WILLIAM CULLEN BRYANT PROLOGUE TO A PLAY PRESENTED BEFORE THE KING AND QUEEN .. AT WHITEHALL by THOMAS CAREW |