I AM kind-hearted, wish no creature ill, Yet take of oxen stunned by hands more strong, And, spite my gentleness, am glad the thong Should make my spent horse hasten up the hill. I am fair-minded, deem the poor man still My brother, and throw crumbs unto the throng; A dead, self-stinting forbear laboured long That I, from a full board, might take my fill. Honest, my sleek well-being knows no debt. I eat of bread begot of others' sweat On fields made fertile by my sires' dead help. Thus on unending massacre I browse. Nature's elect, I forage or I drowse, Bland-eyed and bloody as an ogre's whelp. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...RESURRECTION UPDATE by JAMES GALVIN BENEDICTION by GEORGIA DOUGLAS JOHNSON IN QUEST by GEORGIA DOUGLAS JOHNSON OMNIPRESENCE by GEORGIA DOUGLAS JOHNSON A BANJO SONG by JAMES WELDON JOHNSON A LETTER ON THE USE OF MACHINE GUNS AT WEDDINGS by KENNETH PATCHEN TO WHISTLER, AMERICAN; ON LOAN EXHIBIT OF PAINTINGS AT TATE GALLERY by EZRA POUND |