THE fresh air crank is rather trying; he keeps less selfish people sighing. He'd open every door and casement, from garret clear down to the basement, so he can breathe some ice-cold breezes, and give the rest of us diseases. He is a selfish sort of duffer; he cares not how his fellows suffer, so he gets air shipped fresh from Finland, or other ozone markets inland. If he is in an office working, at keeping books or merely clerking, he wants a window open always, so arctic winds may frost his galways. And he will chortle as he freezes, among refrigerated breezes, "Oh, jiminy, but this is splendid! Fresh air sees all our ailments ended! I know my teeth are all a-chatter, but that's a thing that doesn't matter; and I have gooseflesh on my system, and frostbites till you cannot list'em, and all the clerks around are cursin' each item of my mortal person; but what's the odds? I am inhaling the air that puts an end to ailing. I will not live like stallfed heifers—I'll have my fill of wholesome zephyrs." | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...IN A LIBRARY by EMILY DICKINSON ODE TO FORTUNE by FITZ-GREENE HALLECK RECUERDO by EDNA ST. VINCENT MILLAY WESTWARD HO! by CINCINNATUS HEINE MILLER A NIGHT-PIECE ON DEATH by THOMAS PARNELL FOREIGN LANDS by ROBERT LOUIS STEVENSON TO AMERICA, ON HER FIRST SONS FALLEN IN THE GREAT WAR by E. M. WALKER |