The speaker pretends to praise someone who doesn’t exist yet—or barely exists. This being is pure spirit, air and water, nobody’s child, still comfortably prenatal. It has no vices: it doesn’t drink, gamble, cause illness, create static, or give in to moods. In fact, it’s the perfect non-person: unobtrusive, kind, honest, upright as an ear of corn. The poem builds a mock-heroic list of virtues for not being born. Then the final line delivers the joke: after all that goodness, what reward does this perfect being get? It is born. The mood is wry and playful, with a slight bittersweet edge. The speaker sounds amused at the idea that simply existing is where trouble begins, and that life’s first punishment is being dragged into it.
Poems in Praise of Practically Nothing XII — Summary
You're a pure spirit ; you're air and water ; You're nobody's son and nobody's daughter; In short, you're still in the state pre-natal — A strange condition, but seldom fatal — Well, anyhow, you're a harmless atom, Content to stay in your own stratum; You do not drink or play the horses. Or interfere with natural forces, Indulge in moods or whims erratic, Which cause the flu, and sometimes, static : — A perfect type of the homo non est. You're unobtrusive, kind and honest, As upright as an ear of corn— And what thanks do you get for it all? You're born!