The Fine Fat Saucy Chinaman
I'll sing a little ditty, which
I trust you'll not think flat.
Of a fine fat saucy Chinaman
Who lives on Ballarat,
Whose pigtail is wound round his nut
In a tremendous plait,
And who wears on most occasions
A mushroom-looking hat.
Like a fine fat saucy Chinaman,
One of the present time.
His tent is on the Red Hill, and
He's fossicking all day;
And though he takes what others leave,
Contrives to make it pay;
And sometimes gets big nuggets,
As I've heard people say,
For, by dint of perseverance,
He always pays his way.
But the people on the diggings
Complain of him in shoals -
They say he's always damaging
The splendid waterholes;
And when they catch him at it,
Into a rage they fly;
But, "Welly good no sabby,"
Is all John will reply.
There's an awful insurrection
In China now 'tis said;
He comes away, but finds here too
A price set on his head;
But as the ten pound poll tax
He swears he will not stand,
He goes on shore at Adelaide,
And tramps it overland.
Now John with all his many faults,
Leads an industrious life;
The greatest drawback that he has
Is that he has no wife;
And as he is a bachelor,
Of course he never pops
To spend his tin in any of
The millinery shops.
Now as he's getting lots of gold,
I've not the slightest doubt
That ultimately Chinese girls
By thousands will come out,
Of all sizes and complexions
To please both great and small,
For John says that without a wife,
He can't get on at all.
poem by Anonymous Oceania
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Related quotes
The Chinaman
What brings you here, John Chinaman,
Why come to New South Wales?
Why do you sail when breezes fan
The north side of your sails?
"Our native country scarce can hold
The increase of the year;
So we, allured by love of gold,
Will try our fortunes here."
What do you bring, John Chinaman,
As offering of your heart,
To us who feed, protect your clan,
And let you rich depart?
"We bring you small-pox from our land -
Nay, do not raise your ire,
We opium bring - a noble band,
And to your wealth aspire."
poem by Anonymous Oceania
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
My Rival
If she met him or he met her,
I knew that something must occur;
For they were just like flint and steel
To strike the spark of woe and weal;
Or like two splinters broken fine,
In perfect fitness to combine;
And so I ept them well apart,
For she was precious to my heart.
One time we all three met at church
I tried to give the lad the lurch,
But heard him say: "How like a rose!
is it your daughter , I suppose?"
"Why no," said I; "My wife to be,
And sic months gone wi' child is she."
He looked astonished and distraught:
My boy, that's one for you I thought.
The wife asked: "What a handsome lad!
A sailor . . ." Somehow she looked sad;
And then his memory grew dim,
For nevermore she mentioned him.
And as I be nigh twice her age
I've always thought it mighty sage,
Lest she might one day go astray,
To keep her in the breeding way.
Oh did she ever dream of Jack?
The boy who nevermore came back,
And never will, I heard that he
Was drowned in the China Sea.
I told her not, lest she be sad,
And me? It's mean, but I was glad;
For if he's come into my life
He would have robbed me of my wife.
But when at night by her I lie,
And in her sleep I hear her sigh,
I have a doubt if I did well
In separating Jack and Nell.
And though we have a brood of seven,
Yet marriage may be made in Heaven:
For Nell has cancer, Doctors state,
So maybe 'tis the way of fate
That in the end them two may mate.
poem by Robert William Service
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
The Well of St. Keyne
A Well there is in the west country,
And a clearer one never was seen;
There is not a wife in the west country
But has heard of the Well of St. Keyne.
An oak and an elm-tree stand beside,
And behind doth an ash-tree grow,
And a willow from the bank above
Droops to the water below.
A traveller came to the Well of St. Keyne;
Joyfully he drew nigh,
For from the cock-crow he had been travelling,
And there was not a cloud in the sky.
He drank of the water so cool and clear,
For thirsty and hot was he,
And he sat down upon the bank
Under the willow-tree.
There came a man from the house hard by
At the Well to fill his pail;
On the Well-side he rested it,
And he bade the Stranger hail.
"Now art thou a bachelor, Stranger?" quoth he,
"For an if thou hast a wife,
The happiest draught thou hast drank this day
That ever thou didst in thy life.
"Or has thy good woman, if one thou hast,
Ever here in Cornwall been?
For an if she have, I'll venture my life
She has drank of the Well of St. Keyne."
"I have left a good woman who never was here."
The Stranger he made reply,
"But that my draught should be the better for that,
I pray you answer me why?"
"St. Keyne," quoth the Cornish-man, "many a time
Drank of this crystal Well,
And before the Angel summon'd her,
She laid on the water a spell.
"If the Husband of this gifted Well
Shall drink before his Wife,
A happy man thenceforth is he,
For he shall be Master for life.
"But if the Wife should drink of it first,--
God help the Husband then!"
The Stranger stoopt to the Well of St. Keyne,
And drank of the water again.
"You drank of the Well I warrant betimes?"
He to the Cornish-man said:
But the Cornish-man smiled as the Stranger spake,
And sheepishly shook his head.
"I hasten'd as soon as the wedding was done,
And left my Wife in the porch;
But i' faith she had been wiser than me,
For she took a bottle to Church."
poem by Robert Southey
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
The Ballad Of A Bachelor
Listen, ladies, while I sing
The ballad of John Henry King.
John Henry was a bachelor,
His age was thirty-three or four.
Two maids for his affection vied,
And each desired to be his bride,
And bravely did they strive to bring
Unto their feet John Henry King.
John Henry liked them both so well,
To save his life he could not tell
Which he most wished to be his bride,
Nor was he able to decide.
Fair Kate was jolly, bright, and gay,
And sunny as a summer day;
Marie was kind, sedate, and sweet,
With gentle ways and manners neat.
Each was so dear that John confessed
He could not tell which he liked best.
He studied them for quite a year,
And still found no solution near,
And might have studied two years more
Had he not, walking on the shore,
Conceived a very simple way
Of ending his prolonged delay--
A way in which he might decide
Which of the maids should be his bride.
He said, "I'll toss into the air
A dollar, and I'll toss it fair;
If heads come up, I'll wed Marie;
If tails, fair Kate my bride shall be."
Then from his leather pocket-book
A dollar bright and new he took;
He kissed one side for fair Marie,
The other side for Kate kissed he.
Then in a manner free and fair
He tossed the dollar in the air.
"Ye fates," he cried, "pray let this be
A lucky throw indeed for me!"
The dollar rose, the dollar fell;
He watched its whirling transit well,
And off some twenty yards or more
The dollar fell upon the shore.
John Henry ran to where it struck
To see which maiden was in luck.
But, oh, the irony of fate!
Upon its edge the coin stood straight!
And there, embedded in the sand,
John Henry let the dollar stand!
And he will tempt his fate no more,
But live and die a bachelor.
Thus, ladies, you have heard me sing
The ballad of John Henry King.
Submitted by John Martin
poem by Ellis Parker Butler
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Manners
For a Child of 1918
My grandfather said to me
as we sat on the wagon seat,
"Be sure to remember to always
speak to everyone you meet."
We met a stranger on foot.
My grandfather's whip tapped his hat.
"Good day, sir. Good day. A fine day."
And I said it and bowed where I sat.
Then we overtook a boy we knew
with his big pet crow on his shoulder.
"Always offer everyone a ride;
don't forget that when you get older,"
my grandfather said. So Willy
climbed up with us, but the crow
gave a "Caw!" and flew off. I was worried.
How would he know where to go?
But he flew a little way at a time
from fence post to fence post, ahead;
and when Willy whistled he answered.
"A fine bird," my grandfather said,
"and he's well brought up. See, he answers
nicely when he's spoken to.
Man or beast, that's good manners.
Be sure that you both always do."
When automobiles went by,
the dust hid the people's faces,
but we shouted "Good day! Good day!
Fine day!" at the top of our voices.
When we came to Hustler Hill,
he said that the mare was tired,
so we all got down and walked,
as our good manners required.
poem by Elizabeth Bishop
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Disobedience
James James
Morrison Morrison
Weatherby George Dupree
Took great
Care of his Mother,
Though he was only three.
James James Said to his Mother,
"Mother," he said, said he;
"You must never go down
to the end of the town,
if you don't go down with me."
James James
Morrison's Mother
Put on a golden gown.
James James Morrison's Mother
Drove to the end of the town.
James James Morrison's Mother
Said to herself, said she:
"I can get right down
to the end of the town
and be back in time for tea."
King John
Put up a notice,
"LOST or STOLEN or STRAYED!
JAMES JAMES MORRISON'S MOTHER
SEEMS TO HAVE BEEN MISLAID.
LAST SEEN
WANDERING VAGUELY:
QUITE OF HER OWN ACCORD,
SHE TRIED TO GET DOWN
TO THE END OF THE TOWN -
FORTY SHILLINGS REWARD!"
James James
Morrison Morrison
(Commonly known as Jim)
Told his
Other relations
Not to go blaming him.
James James
Said to his Mother,
"Mother," he said, said he:
"You must never go down to the end of the town
without consulting me."
James James
Morrison's mother
Hasn't been heard of since.
King John said he was sorry,
So did the Queen and Prince.
King John
(Somebody told me)
Said to a man he knew:
If people go down to the end of the town, well,
what can anyone do?"
(Now then, very softly)
J.J.
M.M.
W.G.Du P.
Took great
C/0 his M*****
Though he was only 3.
J.J. said to his M*****
"M*****," he said, said he:
"You-must-never-go-down-to-the-end-of -the-town-
if-you-don't-go-down-with-ME!"
poem by Alan Alexander Milne
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
We are Seven
--------A Simple Child,
That lightly draws its breath,
And feels its life in every limb,
What should it know of death?
I met a little cottage Girl:
She was eight years old, she said;
Her hair was thick with many a curl
That clustered round her head.
She had a rustic, woodland air,
And she was wildly clad:
Her eyes were fair, and very fair;
--Her beauty made me glad.
"Sisters and brothers, little Maid,
How many may you be?"
"How many? Seven in all," she said
And wondering looked at me.
"And where are they? I pray you tell."
She answered, "Seven are we;
And two of us at Conway dwell,
And two are gone to sea.
"Two of us in the church-yard lie,
My sister and my brother;
And, in the church-yard cottage, I
Dwell near them with my mother."
"You say that two at Conway dwell,
And two are gone to sea,
Yet ye are seven!--I pray you tell,
Sweet Maid, how this may be."
Then did the little Maid reply,
"Seven boys and girls are we;
Two of us in the church-yard lie,
Beneath the church-yard tree."
"You run about, my little Maid,
Your limbs they are alive;
If two are in the church-yard laid,
Then ye are only five."
"Their graves are green, they may be seen,"
The little Maid replied,
"Twelve steps or more from my mother's door,
And they are side by side.
"My stockings there I often knit,
My kerchief there I hem;
And there upon the ground I sit,
And sing a song to them.
"And often after sunset, Sir,
When it is light and fair,
I take my little porringer,
And eat my supper there.
"The first that died was sister Jane;
In bed she moaning lay,
Till God released her of her pain;
And then she went away.
"So in the church-yard she was laid;
And, when the grass was dry,
Together round her grave we played,
My brother John and I.
"And when the ground was white with snow,
And I could run and slide,
My brother John was forced to go,
And he lies by her side."
"How many are you, then," said I,
"If they two are in heaven?"
Quick was the little Maid's reply,
"O Master! we are seven."
"But they are dead; those two are dead!
Their spirits are in heaven!"
'Twas throwing words away; for still
The little Maid would have her will,
And said, "Nay, we are seven!"
poem by William Wordsworth
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Sonnet V: Nothing But No
Nothing but "No," and "Aye," and "Aye," and "No"?
How falls it out so strangely you reply?
I tell ye, Fair, I'll not be answer'd so,
With this affirming "No," denying "Aye."
I say, "I love," you slightly answer "Aye";
I say, "You love," you pule me out a "No";
I say, "I die," you echo me an "Aye";
"Save me," I cry, you sigh me out a "No";
Must woe and I have nought but "No" and "Aye"?
No I am I, if I no more can have;
Answer no more, with silence make reply,
And let me take myself what I do crave.
Let "No" and "Aye" with I and you be so;
Then answer "No," and "Aye," and "Aye" and "No."
poem by Michael Drayton
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
The Traveller
As I rode in to Burrumbeet,
I met a man with funny feet;
And, when I paused to ask him why
His feet were strange, he rolled his eye
And said the rain would spoil the wheat;
So I rode on to Burrumbeet.
As I rode in to Beetaloo,
I met a man whose nose was blue;
And when I asked him how he got
A nose like that, he answered, "What
Do bullocks mean when they say 'Moo'?"
So I rode on to Beetaloo.
As I rode in to Ballarat,
I met a man who wore no hat;
And, when I said he might take cold,
He cried, "The hills are quite as old
As yonder plains, but not so flat."
So I rode on to Ballarat.
As I rode in to Gundagai,
I met a man and passed him by
Without a nod, without a word.
He turned, and said he'd never heard
Or seen a man so wise as I.
But I rode on to Gundagai.
As I rode homeward, full of doubt,
I met a stranger riding out:
A foolish man he seemed to me;
But, "Nay, I am yourself," said he,
"Just as you were when you rode out."
So I rode homeward, free of doubt.
poem by Clarence Michael James Stanislaus Dennis
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Chinese Immigration
You doubtless read the papers,
And as men of observation,
Of course you watch the progress
Of Chinese immigration--
For thousands of these pigtail chaps
In Adelaide are landing;
And why they let such numbers come
Exceeds my understanding.
On Emerald Hill it now appears
A Joss House they've erected;
And they've got an ugly idol there--
It's just what I expected;
And they offer nice young chickens
Unto this wooden log;
And sometimes with a sucking pig
They go the entire hog.
Now some of you, perhaps, may laugh,
But 'tis my firm opinion,
This colony some day will be
Under Chinese dominion.
They'll upset the Australian government,
The place will be their own;
And an Emperor with a long pigtail,
Will sit upon the throne.
Melbourne will be the seat of power,
And then 'tis my impression,
Of the stations up the country
They'll quickly take possession.
The squatters will be used as slaves,
By the Celestial nation;
And growing tea or rice will be
Their only compensation.
The mandarins will seize for wives
The fair Australian girls;
And from Melbourne to the diggings
They'll cut lots of canals.
And for fear the coves of New South Wales
Should pay a hostile call;
Between this colony and that
No doubt they'll build a wall.
The customs of their country
Of course will then prevail;
And every English slave will have
To wear a long pigtail.
We'll all of us be fed on rice,
As true as I'm a sinner;
And 'stead of spoons we'll have to use
Those chopsticks for our dinner.
This picture, perhaps, is overdrawn;
But, however, who can say,
That all these things will not take place,
If we let them have their way.
If it comes to pass, these English songs
Away I'll quick be flinging,
And learn their language; and come out
In Chinese comic singing.
poem by Charles Thatcher
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Home
"Where shall we dwell?" say you.
Wandering winds reply:
"In a temple with roof of blue
-- Under the splendid sky."
Never a nobler home
We'll find though an age we try
Than is arched by the azure dome
Of the all-enfolding sky.
Here we are wed, and here
We live under God's own eye.
"Where shall we dwell," my dear?
Under the splendid sky.
poem by John Le Gay Brereton
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Automatic Relationship
There is something missing or
The way is wrong
How can the life define?
Having with a sentence in few words
You ask "how are you"
I say "I am fine"
When I say as that
Why I become uneasy
I want to utter more than fine
I don't know you have time
Tone and rhythm of yours and mine
Differently together which are going
Not to carry on further more
Your question expects a result no
Knowing of the moment so
We both pretend to our soul core
"How are you" the question
"I am fine" the intention
If the reality so far mention
May you join with me again?
poem by Udaya R. Tennakoon
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Valedictory Address to the D--n
John Alexander Frere, John,
When we were first acquent,
You lectured us as Freshmen
In the holy term of Lent;
But now you’re gettin’ bald, John,
Your end is drawing near,
And I think we’d better say "Goodbye,
John Alexander Frere."
John Alexander Frere, John,
How swiftly Time has flown!
The weeks that you refused us
Are now no more your own;
Tho’ Time was in your hand, John,
You lingered out the year,
That Grace might more abound unto
John Alexander Frere.
There’s young Monro of Trinity,
And Hunter bold of Queen’s,
Who spurn the chapel system,
And "vex the souls of Deans."
But all their petty squabbles
More ludicrous appear,
When we muse on thy departed form,
John Alexander Frere.
There’s many better man, John.
That scorns the scoffing crew,
But keeps with fond affection
The notes he got from you—
"Why he was out of College,
Till two o’clock or near,
The Senior Dean requests to know,
Yours truly, J. A. Frere."
John Alexander Frere, John,
I wonder what you mean
By mixing up your name so
With me, and with "The Dean."
Another Don may dean us,
But ne’er again, we fear,
Shall we receive such notes as yours,
John Alexander Frere.
The Lecture Room no more, John,
Shall hear thy drowsy tone,
No more shall men in Chapel
Bow down before thy throne.
But Shillington with meekness,
The oracle shall hear,
That set St. Mary's all to sleep—
John Alexander Frere.
Then once before we part, John,
Let all be clean forgot,
Our scandalous inventions,
[Thy note-lets, prized or not].
For under all conventions,
The small man lived sincere,
The kernel of the Senior Dean,
John Alexander Frere.
poem by James Clerk Maxwell
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
The Pillar Box
The pillar box is fat and red,
The pillar box is high;
It has the flattest sort of head
And not a nose or eye,
But just one open nigger mouth
That grins when I go by.
The pillar box is very round
But hungry all the day;
Although it doesn't make a sound,
Folks know it wants to say,
"Give me some letter sandwiches
To pass the time away."
"A postage stamp I like to eat
Or gummy letterette."
I see the people on the street,
If it is fine or wet,
Give something to the greedy thing;
They never quite forget.
The pillar box is quite a friend;
When Father goes away
My Mother has such lots to send,
Far letters every day,
And so I drop them in its mouth
When I go out to play.
poem by Katherine Mansfield
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
The ABC
'Twas midnight in the schoolroom
And every desk was shut
When suddenly from the alphabet
Was heard a loud "Tut-Tut!"
Said A to B, "I don't like C;
His manners are a lack.
For all I ever see of C
Is a semi-circular back!"
"I disagree," said D to B,
"I've never found C so.
From where I stand he seems to be
An uncompleted O."
C was vexed, "I'm much perplexed,
You criticise my shape.
I'm made like that, to help spell Cat
And Cow and Cool and Cape."
"He's right" said E; said F, "Whoopee!"
Said G, "'Ip, 'Ip, 'ooray!"
"You're dropping me," roared H to G.
"Don't do it please I pray."
"Out of my way," LL said to K.
"I'll make poor I look ILL."
To stop this stunt J stood in front,
And presto! ILL was JILL.
"U know," said V, "that W
Is twice the age of me.
For as a Roman V is five
I'm half as young as he."
X and Y yawned sleepily,
"Look at the time!" they said.
"Let's all get off to beddy byes."
They did, then "Z-z-z."
poem by Spike Milligan
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Alone in the Crowd
Eternal subservience
To the controlled insanity
What a prim and proper reason
To wish to break away
"But no! " the "heroes" faintly cry
As you try to flee their bounds
"Why don't you enjoy it here?
Are you not fond of crowds? "
All their masks are all the same
As they expect a fine reply
But their conformist tunnel vision
Finds truth within your lie
Satisfied the huddled mass
Through life circumambulates
Leaving you with a plastered mask
And immense amounts of hate
"You fool! How could you? You were more! "
Your mind screams inside your skull
And marching to their deadbeat tune
Leaves you and yourself annulled
As the masks around you smile
It reflects onto your own
Though "Yourself" might now be plural
You are still all alone
Emily, John, James, and I
EMILY JANE was a nursery maid,
JAMES was a bold Life Guard,
JOHN was a constable, poorly paid
(And I am a doggerel bard).
A very good girl was EMILY JANE,
JIMMY was good and true,
JOHN was a very good man in the main
(And I am a good man too).
Rivals for EMMIE were JOHNNY and JAMES,
Though EMILY liked them both;
She couldn't tell which had the strongest claims
(And I couldn't take my oath).
But sooner or later you're certain to find
Your sentiments can't lie hid -
JANE thought it was time that she made up her mind
(And I think it was time she did).
Said JANE, with a smirk, and a blush on her face,
"I'll promise to wed the boy
Who takes me to-morrow to Epsom Race!"
(Which I would have done, with joy).
From JOHNNY escaped an expression of pain,
But Jimmy said, "Done with you!
I'll take you with pleasure, my EMILY JANE!"
(And I would have said so too).
JOHN lay on the ground, and he roared like mad
(For JOHNNY was sore perplexed),
And he kicked very hard at a very small lad
(Which I often do, when vexed).
For JOHN was on duty next day with the Force,
To punish all Epsom crimes;
Young people WILL cross when they're clearing the course
(I do it myself, sometimes).
The Derby Day sun glittered gaily on cads,
On maidens with gamboge hair,
On sharpers and pickpockets, swindlers and pads,
(For I, with my harp, was there).
And JIMMY went down with his JANE that day,
And JOHN by the collar or nape
Seized everybody who came in his way
(And I had a narrow escape).
He noticed his EMILY JANE with JIM,
And envied the well-made elf;
And people remarked that he muttered "Oh, dim!"
(I often say "dim!" myself).
JOHN dogged them all day, without asking their leaves;
For his sergeant he told, aside,
That JIMMY and JANE were notorious thieves
(And I think he was justified).
But JAMES wouldn't dream of abstracting a fork,
And JENNY would blush with shame
At stealing so much as a bottle or cork
(A bottle I think fair game).
But, ah! there's another more serious crime!
They wickedly strayed upon
The course, at a critical moment of time
(I pointed them out to JOHN).
The constable fell on the pair in a crack -
And then, with a demon smile,
Let JENNY cross over, but sent JIMMY back
(I played on my harp the while).
Stern JOHNNY their agony loud derides
With a very triumphant sneer -
They weep and they wail from the opposite sides
(And I shed a silent tear).
And JENNY is crying away like mad,
And JIMMY is swearing hard;
And JOHNNY is looking uncommonly glad
(And I am a doggerel bard).
But JIMMY he ventured on crossing again
The scenes of our Isthmian Games -
JOHN caught him, and collared him, giving him pain
(I felt very much for JAMES).
JOHN led him away with a victor's hand,
And JIMMY was shortly seen
In the station-house under the grand Grand Stand
(As many a time I'VE been).
And JIMMY, bad boy, was imprisoned for life,
Though EMILY pleaded hard;
And JOHNNY had EMILY JANE to wife
(And I am a doggerel bard).
poem by William Schwenck Gilbert
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
The Pig
In England once there lived a big
And wonderfully clever pig.
To everybody it was plain
That Piggy had a massive brain.
He worked out sums inside his head,
There was no book he hadn't read.
He knew what made an airplane fly,
He knew how engines worked and why.
He knew all this, but in the end
One question drove him round the bend:
He simply couldn't puzzle out
What LIFE was really all about.
What was the reason for his birth?
Why was he placed upon this earth?
His giant brain went round and round.
Alas, no answer could be found.
Till suddenly one wondrous night.
All in a flash he saw the light.
He jumped up like a ballet dancer
And yelled, "By gum, I've got the answer!"
"They want my bacon slice by slice
"To sell at a tremendous price!
"They want my tender juicy chops
"To put in all the butcher's shops!
"They want my pork to make a roast
"And that's the part'll cost the most!
"They want my sausages in strings!
"They even want my chitterlings!
"The butcher's shop! The carving knife!
"That is the reason for my life!"
Such thoughts as these are not designed
To give a pig great piece of mind.
Next morning, in comes Farmer Bland,
A pail of pigswill in his hand,
And piggy with a mighty roar,
Bashes the farmer to the floor…
Now comes the rather grizzly bit
So let's not make too much of it,
Except that you must understand
That Piggy did eat Farmer Bland,
He ate him up from head to toe,
Chewing the pieces nice and slow.
It took an hour to reach the feet,
Because there was so much to eat,
And when he finished, Pig, of course,
Felt absolutely no remorse.
Slowly he scratched his brainy head
And with a little smile he said,
"I had a fairly powerful hunch
"That he might have me for his lunch.
"And so, because I feared the worst,
"I thought I'd better eat him first."
poem by Roald Dahl
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
On a Wet Day
As I walked thinking through a little grove,
Some girls that gathered flowers came passing me,
Saying -- "Look here! look there!" delightedly.
"O here it is!" "What's that?" "A lily? love!"
"And there are violets!"
"Farther for roses! O the lovely pets!
The darling beauties! O the nasty thorn!
Look here, my hand's all torn!"
"What's that that jumps?" "O don't! It's a grasshopper!"
"Come, run! come, run!
Here's bluebells!" "O what fun!"
"Not that way! Stop her!"
"Yes! this way!" Pluck them then!"
"O, I've found mushrooms! O look here!" "O, I'm
Quite sure that farther on we'll get wild thyme."
"O, we shall stay too long; it's going to rain;
There's lightning; O! there's thunder!"
"O shan't we hear the vesper bell? I wonder."
"Why, it's not nones, you silly little thing!
And don't you hear the nightingales that sing --
Fly away, O die away?"
"O, I hear something; hush!"
"Why, where? what is it then?" "Ah! in that bush."
So every girl here knocks it, shakes and shocks it:
Till with the stir they make
Out scurries a great snake.
"O Lord! O me! Alack! Ah me! Alack!"
They scream, and then all run and scream again,
And then in heavy drops comes down the rain.
Each running at the other in a fright,
Each trying to get before the other, and crying,
And flying, and stumbling, tumbling, wrong or right; --
One sets her knee
There where her foot should be;
One has her hands and dress
All smothered up with mud in a fine mess;
And one gets trampled on by two or three.
What's gathered is let fall
About the wood, and not picked up at all.
The wreaths of flowers are scattered on the ground,
And still as, screaming, hustling, without rest,
They run this way and that and round and round,
She thinks herself in luck who runs the best.
I stood quite still to have a perfect view,
And never noticed till I got wet through.
poem by Franco Sacchetti
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
The Gardener LXXV: At Midnight
At midnight the would-be ascetic
announced:
"This is the time to give up my
home and seek for God. Ah, who has
held me so long in delusion here?"
God whispered, "I," but the ears
of the man were stopped.
With a baby asleep at her breast
lay his wife, peacefully sleeping on
one side of the bed.
The man said, "Who are ye that
have fooled me so long?"
The voice said again, "They are
God," but he heard it not.
The baby cried out in its dream,
nestling close to its mother.
God commanded, "Stop, fool, leave
not thy home," but still he heard not.
God sighed and complained, "Why
does my servant wander to seek me,
forsaking me?"
poem by Rabindranath Tagore
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!