YOU plant a rosebush by your door, and morning glories three or four; you mow the lawn when whiskers green upon its countenance are seen; you take the dead cats to the dump, and fix the fence and paint the pump; and trim the figtree and the vine, and make the doorknob fairly shine. And neighbors who have gone to seed, whose lots are grown to grass and weed, will soon or late observe your game, and feel a burning sense of shame. They'll say, "That fellow's place, so neat, is quite the smoothest on the street; it makes ours look like also-rans, so we'll adopt that smarty's plans, and prove to him that other jays can well deserve the public praise." I've seen a neighborhood that lay all ragged, gone to brush and hay, brace up and bloom to beat the band because some pilgrim, tools in hand, cleaned up his lawn and pruned his trees, and bought some flowers and bumblebees. Thus good examples spur the souls of men who've crawled into their holes, content to let the whole world slide, the tail connected with the hide. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...ON LIVING, FROM LIFE IS A DREAM by PEDRO CALDERON DE LA BARCA THE GORSE by WILFRID WILSON GIBSON THE COMING OF GOOD LUCK by ROBERT HERRICK MARTHY VIRGINIA'S HAND [SEPTEMBER 17, 1862] by GEORGE PARSONS LATHROP AT BAY RIDGE, LONG ISLAND by THOMAS BAILEY ALDRICH BEETHOVEN'S SEVENTH SYMPHONY by LYMAN WHITNEY ALLEN STANZAS by LOUISA SARAH BEVINGTON |