IT makes no odds if people hate you, if they malign you and berate you; for if you're walking circumspectly, and doing your devoir correctly, what people say will never hurt you, or knock the polish from your virtue. Let people hate you, if that action affords them solid satisfaction. It's when you hate yourself, my neighbor, that hatred prods, as with a saber. When I left home this morning, growling, and showed the folks a visage scowling, and spoke no word that they might treasure, I spoiled for them the whole day's pleasure. That's why I hate myself so deeply, that's why I hold myself so cheaply, and when one hates himself like blazes, he can't be soothed with cheerup phrases. And every time we are descending to doing things that need defending, remorse is in our bosoms grating; we know the bitterness of hating. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...THE SHANNON AND THE CHESAPEAKE [JUNE 1, 1813] by THOMAS TRACY BOUVE PENMAEN POOL by GERARD MANLEY HOPKINS MUTABILITY (2) by PERCY BYSSHE SHELLEY TANGLED TRAILS by GLADYS NAOMI ARNOLD WATER WOMAN by JOSEPH AUSLANDER DEATH AND THE MONK by ARTHUR E. BAKER |