Analysis of The Joy Of Being Poor
Let others sing of gold and gear, the joy of being rich;
But oh, the days when I was poor, a vagrant in a ditch!
When every dawn was like a gem, so radiant and rare,
And I had but a single coat, and not a single care;
When I would feast right royally on bacon, bread and beer,
And dig into a stack of hay and doze like any peer;
When I would wash beside a brook my solitary shirt,
And though it dried upon my back I never took a hurt;
When I went romping down the road contemptuous of care,
And slapped Adventure on the back -- by Gad! we were a pair;
When, though my pockets lacked a coin, and though my coat was old,
The largess of the stars was mine, and all the sunset gold;
When time was only made for fools, and free as air was I,
And hard I hit and hard I lived beneath the open sky;
When all the roads were one to me, and each had its allure . . .
Ye Gods! these were the happy days, the days when I was poor.
Or else, again, old pal of mine, do you recall the times
You struggled with your storyettes, I wrestled with my rhymes;
Oh, we were happy, were we not? -- we used to live so "high"
(A little bit of broken roof between us and the sky);
Upon the forge of art we toiled with hammer and with tongs;
You told me all your rippling yarns, I sang to you my songs.
Our hats were frayed, our jackets patched, our boots were down at heel,
But oh, the happy men were we, although we lacked a meal.
And if I sold a bit of rhyme, or if you placed a tale,
What feasts we had of tenderloins and apple-tarts and ale!
And yet how often we would dine as cheerful as you please,
Beside our little friendly fire on coffee, bread and cheese.
We lived upon the ragged edge, and grub was never sure,
But oh, these were the happy days, the days when we were poor.
Alas! old man, we're wealthy now, it's sad beyond a doubt;
We cannot dodge prosperity, success has found us out.
Your eye is very dull and drear, my brow is creased with care,
We realize how hard it is to be a millionaire.
The burden's heavy on our backs -- you're thinking of your rents,
I'm worrying if I'll invest in five or six per cents.
We've limousines, and marble halls, and flunkeys by the score,
We play the part . . . but say, old chap, oh, isn't it a bore?
We work like slaves, we eat too much, we put on evening dress;
We've everything a man can want, I think . . . but happiness.
Come, let us sneak away, old chum; forget that we are rich,
And earn an honest appetite, and scratch an honest itch.
Let's be two jolly garreteers, up seven flights of stairs,
And wear old clothes and just pretend we aren't millionaires;
And wonder how we'll pay the rent, and scribble ream on ream,
And sup on sausages and tea, and laugh and loaf and dream.
And when we're tired of that, my friend, oh, you will come with me;
And we will seek the sunlit roads that lie beside the sea.
We'll know the joy the gipsy knows, the freedom nothing mars,
The golden treasure-gates of dawn, the mintage of the stars.
We'll smoke our pipes and watch the pot, and feed the crackling fire,
And sing like two old jolly boys, and dance to heart's desire;
We'll climb the hill and ford the brook and camp upon the moor . . .
Old chap, let's haste, I'm mad to taste the Joy of Being Poor.
Scheme | AABBCCDDBBEEFFGH IIFFXXJJKKLLGH MMBBNNOOXXAAPPQQ RRSSTTGH |
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Poetic Form | |
Metre | 11011101011101 11011111010001 110011101110001 01110101010101 11111100110101 01010111011101 1111010111001 01110111110101 11110101010011 01010101111001 11110101011111 0101011101011 11110111011111 01110111010101 11010111011101 11100101011111 1101111111101 110111110111 11010011111111 01011101011001 01011111110011 111111001111111 10101101011010111 1101010111101 01110111111101 111111010101 01110111110111 0110101010110101 11010101011101 11100101011101 01111101110101 11010100011111 11110101111111 110111111001 01101101110111 11001101011111 110010101101 11011111110101 11111111111101 1100111111100 11110111011111 0111010011101 111101110111 0111010111001 01011101010111 01110001010101 011101111111111 0111011110101 1101011010101 01010111010101 1110101010101010 011111010111010 11010101010101 11111111011101 |
Closest metre | Iambic heptameter |
Characters | 3,185 |
Words | 640 |
Sentences | 34 |
Stanzas | 4 |
Stanza Lengths | 16, 14, 16, 8 |
Lines Amount | 54 |
Letters per line (avg) | 45 |
Words per line (avg) | 12 |
Letters per stanza (avg) | 606 |
Words per stanza (avg) | 162 |
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Submitted on May 13, 2011
Modified on April 21, 2023
- 3:17 min read
- 93 Views
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