NO other man, unless it was Doc Hill, Did more for people in this town than I. And all the weak, the halt, the improvident And those who could not pay flocked to me. I was good-hearted, easy Doctor Meyers. I was healthy, happy, in comfortable fortune, Blessed with a congenial mate, my children raised, All wedded, doing well in the world. And then one night, Minerva, the poetess, Came to me in her trouble, crying. I tried to help her out -- she died -- They indicted me, the newspapers disgraced me, My wife perished of a broken heart. And pneumonia finished me. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...THE ROMAN ROAD by THOMAS HARDY MUSIC IN THE NIGHT by HARRIET PRESCOTT SPOFFORD ANACTORIA by ALGERNON CHARLES SWINBURNE THE TRANSLATION by MARK VAN DOREN AN OLD CASTLE by THOMAS BAILEY ALDRICH THE WELFORD WEDDING by ELIZABETH FRANCES AMHERST |