OLD HUNX is a hermit and mystic, his manner is stately and grave, his diet is antiphlogistic, he spends all his years in a cave. "My health," he remarks, "is a wonder, although I'm as old as get-out; rheumatics don't pull me asunder, I have not the stringhalt or gout. I warble my optimist ditties, my soul's full of sunshine and hope; but when I resided in cities, I always was swallowing dope. I always had shingles or colic, or Bright's justly famous disease; the rheumatiz often would frolic all over my fetlocks and knees. If man would keep grief in the distance, and feel like a Percheron steer, he must lead the simple existence, and cut out the urban career." "Methinks," I replied, "you are paying too heavy a price for your bliss; while far from the bright lights you're staying, just think of the fun that you miss! I'd rather have smallpox or bunions, I'd rather have seven-year itch, than fill up with turnips and onions, and live in a cave or a ditch!" | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...A GIRL'S GARDEN by ROBERT FROST TO A CHAMELEON by MARIANNE MOORE FAMILIAR EPISTLE TO A LITTLE BOY by WILLIAM ALLINGHAM THE CLOUDED SOUL by LAWRENCE ALMA-TADEMA A BALLADE OF OTHER IDOLS by LEONARD BACON (1887-1954) THE BOTTOM DRAWER by AMELIA EDITH HUDDLESTON BARR |