The Superfluous Man

John G. Saxe

I long have been puzzled to guess,

And so I have frequently said,

What the reason could really be

That I never have happened to wed;

But now it is perfectly clear

I am under a natural ban;

The girls are already assigned—

And I'm a superfluous man!

Those clever statistical chaps

Declare the numerical run

Of women and men in the world

Is Twenty to Twenty-and-one:

And hence in the pairing, you see,

Since wooing and wedding began,

For every connubial score

They've got a superfluous man!

By twenties and twenties they go,

And giddily rush to their fate,

For none of the number, of course,

Can fail of the conjugal mate;

But while they are yielding in scores

To nature's inflexible plan,

There's never a woman for me—

For I'm a superfluous man!

It isn't that I am a churl,

To solitude over-inclined,

It isn't that I am at fault

In morals or manners or mind;

Then what is the reason, you ask,

I'm still with the bachelor clan?

I merely was numbered amiss—

And I'm a superfluous man!

It isn't that I am in want

Of personal beauty or grace,

For many a man with a wife

Is uglier far in the face.

Indeed, among elegant men

I fancy myself in the van;

But what is the value of that,

When I'm a superfluous man?

Although I am fond of the girls,

For aught I could ever discern,

The tender emotion I feel

Is one that they never return;

'Tis idle to quarrel with fate,

For, struggle as hard as I can,

They're mated already, you know,

And I'm a superfluous man!

No wonder I grumble at times,

With women so pretty and plenty,

To know that I never was born

To figure as one of the Twenty;

But yet, when the average lot

With critical vision I scan,

I think it may be for the best

That I'm a superfluous man!