I KNOW that when there comes disaster, that sticks like an adhesive plaster, a man gets no relief, by giving free vein to his dander, and showing Innocent Bystander how loudly he can beef. I know that sympathy will dwindle, if all the fires of wrath you kindle, when you have stubbed your toe; far better for your fame it will be, if you will simply nurse your trilby, and say it looks like snow. All men admire and love the Spartan who struggles to conceal his smartin', his sickness and his pain; so if your head hurts, don't sit crying, but spend a minute prophesying that we shall have some rain. I know disaster sticks the tighter to any weak and weeping blighter who will not turn and scrap; but it will find its job revolting, and soon quit badgering and jolting the brisk, aggressive chap. Ill fortune is a tin-horn bluffer; it dogs your heels and makes you suffer, while you for this will stand; but when all fearlessly you eye it, and pull its whiskers and defy it, it skips to beat the band. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...THE LILY, FR. SONGS OF EXPERIENCE by WILLIAM BLAKE COMFORT by ELIZABETH BARRETT BROWNING HUNTING SONG, FR. ZAPOLYA by SAMUEL TAYLOR COLERIDGE COMFORT [TO A YOUTH THAT HAD LOST HIS LOVE] by ROBERT HERRICK THE RUBAIYAT, 1879 EDITION: 7 by OMAR KHAYYAM SONNET: 3 by RICHARD BARNFIELD |