Lines to a Don
Remote and ineffectual Don
That dared attack my Chesterton,
With that poor weapon, half-impelled,
Unlearnt, unsteady, hardly held,
Unworthy for a tilt with men--
Your quavering and corroded pen;
Don poor at Bed and worse at Table,
Don pinched, Don starved, Don miserable;
Don stuttering, Don with roving eyes,
Don nervous, Don of crudities;
Don clerical, Don ordinary,
Don self-absorbed and solitary;
Don here-and-there, Don epileptic;
Don puffed and empty, Don dyspeptic;
Don middle-class, Don sycophantic,
Don dull, Don brutish, Don pedantic;
Don hypocritical, Don bad,
Don furtive, Don three-quarters mad;
Don (since a man must make and end),
Don that shall never be my friend.
Don different from those regal Dons!
With hearts of gold and lungs of bronze,
Who shout and bang and roar and bawl
The Absolute across the hall,
Or sail in amply bellying gown
Enormous through the Sacred Town,
Bearing from College to their homes
Deep cargoes of gigantic tomes;
Dons admirable! Dons of Might!
Uprising on my inward sight
Compact of ancient tales, and port
And sleep--and learning of a sort.
Dons English, worthy of the land;
Dons rooted; Dons that understand.
Good Dons perpetual that remain
A landmark, walling in the plain--
The horizon of my memories--
Like large and comfortable trees.
Don very much apart from these,
Thou scapegoat Don, thou Don devoted,
Don to thine own damnation quoted,
Perplexed to find thy trivial name
Reared in my verse to lasting shame.
Don dreadful, rasping Don and wearing,
Repulsive Don--Don past all bearing.
Don of the cold and doubtful breath,
Don despicable, Don of death;
Don nasty, skimpy, silent, level;
Don evil, Don that serves the devil.
Don ugly--that makes fifty lines.
There is a Canon which confines
A Rhymed Octosyllabic Curse
If written in Iambic Verse
To fifty lines. I never cut;
I far prefer to end it--but
Believe me I shall soon return.
My fires are banked, but still they burn
To write some more about the Don
That dared attack my Chesterton.
poem by Hilaire Belloc
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Related quotes
The knot of the family
A woman dons the role of temptress
With her contours visible to a Big Boy
Brute.
Man is drawn to her and seeds are planted.
He must not deceive nor leave her.
So she dons the role of mother
With her breasts locking his head.
Man clings to her as a Little Boy Lost.
Hardly does a man abandon his family.
06.10.2004
poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
A Change Of Seasons
There is beauty found in dying
when Autumn dons her velvet gown—
A pastel landscape underlying
when Autumn strolls through town.
When Autumn dons her velvet gown,
deep colors in her skirt unfold.
When Autumn strolls through town,
the leaves turn crimson, brown, and gold.
Deep colors in her skirt unfold.
Summer acquiesces.
The leaves turn crimson, brown, and gold
when Autumn unbraids her copper tresses.
Summer acquiesces—
A pastel landscape underlying.
When Autumn unbraids her copper tresses,
there is beauty found in dying.
poem by Kathy Lippard Cobb
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
The true poet for me is a priest. As soon as he dons the cassock, he must leave his family.
quote by Gustave Flaubert
Submitted by Lucian Velea
Vote! | Copy!
The dons of Oxford and Cambridge are too busy educating the young men to be able to teach them anything.
quote by Samuel Butler
Submitted by Lucian Velea
Vote! | Copy!
Black Night
Black night
engulfs my sight,
stills to silence
my failing breath.
Do you recall how,
by fierce day consumed,
passion's eye conveys
love's light
deep into our beating hearts?
Glance up!
Oh, stretch back your neck,
raise
your sleepy eyes
and see how the tree,
thrusting to sky dark branches,
dons the starry cloak
of night.
poem by Steven Federle
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
The Dons of Spain
The Eagle screams at the beck of trade, so Spain, as the world goes round,
Must wrestle the right to live or die from the sons of the land she found;
For, as in the days when the buccaneer was abroad on the Spanish Main,
The national honour is one thing dear to the hearts of the Dons of Spain.
She has slaughtered thousands with fire and sword, as the Christian world might know;
We murder millions, but, thank the Lord! we only starve 'em slow.
The times have changed since the days of old, but the same old facts remain –
We fight for Freedom, and God, and Gold, and the Spaniards fight for Spain.
We fought with the strength of the moral right, and they, as their ships went down,
They only fought with the grit to fight and their armour to help 'em drown.
It mattered little what chance or hope, for ever their path was plain,
The Church was the Church, and the Pope the Pope – but the Spaniards fought for Spain.
If Providence struck for the honest thief at times in the battle's din –
If ever it struck at the hypocrite – well, that's where the Turks came in;
But this remains ere we leave the wise to argue it through in vain –
There's something great in the wrong that dies as the Spaniards die for Spain.
The foes of Spain may be kin to us who are English heart and soul,
And proud of our national righteousness and proud of the lands we stole;
But we yet might pause while those brave men die and the death-drink pledge again –
For the sake of the past, if you're doomed, say I, may your death be a grand one, Spain!
Then here's to the bravest of Freedom's foes who ever with death have stood –
For the sake of the courage to die on steel as their fathers died on wood;
And here's a cheer for the flag unfurled in a hopeless cause again,
For the sake of the days when the Christian world was saved by the Dons of Spain.
poem by Henry Lawson
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Patchwork colors meld
Gaia dons floral raiment
inspiration flows
haiku by Lorraine Margueritte Gasrel Black
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Axed tree lifeless nude:
Rain dons leafy raiment green;
Life returns anew
haiku by John Celes (30 July 2011)
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Ch 08 On Rules For Conduct In Life - Maxim 52
Regret will not leave the hearts of two persons and their feet of contention will not emerge from the mire: a merchant with a wrecked ship and a youth sitting with qalandars.
Dervishes will consider it licit to shed thy blood
If they can have no access to thy property.
Either associate not with a friend who dons the blue garb,
Or bid farewell to all thy property.
Either make no friends with elephant-keepers
Or build a house suitable for elephants.
0052 Herrick on his Julia's clothes
Whenas in silks my Julia goes,
Till, then, methinks, how sweetly flows
That liquefaction of her clothes!
But when she dons her miniskirt, me-
-thinks but briefly; asks her curtly -
Mistress, let's get down and dirty...
(for Marcy)
poem by Michael Shepherd
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
A Liking For Rhyme
My literary tastes have not changed with the passing of time
I have always been one with a liking for rhyme
To rhyme is so easy as some like to say
Though rhymers seem so out of fashion today
But I am a lover of ballad and song
And rhymes with a lilt that just jingle along
I loved reading the old rhyming verse as a boy
Something to this day I do thoroughly enjoy
Some literary dons refer to a rhymer as a doggerel poet
As not anyone worthy of literary note
From the Poets Club with their words rhymers they exclude
For educated people they seem rather rude
But I am a fan of good old rhyming stuff
And for many years now I have been a rhyme buff.
poem by Francis Duggan
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
SONNET--Breakfast in Gurunathan Cafe
A Sonnet
Breakfast in Gurunathan Café
You that seateth café by Andal temple beside
Bestride upon stool behind kerosene stove
Busy with thy wares, quick in spirit
One that dons a banian snow – white
Schooling thou hast none, lettered scarce
Yet schooled in catering makes one amaze
As dosas hot on plate spread as lotus pad
Dawn lights the day, the town unfold
What art, subtle blessed skill thou possess
To churn out those gentle idlis
White as lily, soft jasmine, no crusts
Better than my better half’s breasts?
Piping coffee, crisp vada, sambar of onion
Tingling in taste, neat recipe fine.
----------------
poem by Ramesh Iyengar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Beauty, Its Effect.
I have been touched with her, and have ta'en (Unclear
The acquaintance of her beauty like a dream,
Or as it were a flower of Faerie breathed
By an immortal; for the light and air
Of life and love so, so endue her, she
Puts on and off the sweetest favours like
The momentary raiment that
A goddess dons and doffs.
poem by Robert Crawford
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Out of Town
Out of town the sky was bright and blue,
Never fog-cloud, lowering, thick, was seen to frown;
Nature dons a garb of gayer hue,
Out of town.
Spotless lay the snow on field and down,
Pure and keen the air above it blew;
All wore peace and beauty for a crown.
London sky, marred by smoke, veiled from view,
London snow, trodden thin, dingy brown,
Whence that strange unrest at thoughts of you
Out of town?
Sonnet: A Man’s Life Is His Wife
How can one be unkind to one’s one wife,
The better-half who shares his joys and grief?
The woman ’hind the success in his life,
Who serves him lovingly though life is brief?
The share of toil she renders is far great;
From child rearing to cooking, loving chores;
She dons the family’s problems as her fate;
Her life gets spent like house-arrest ’hind doors.
How can a man to wife be ungrateful?
His wife’s a shadow of his own image!
No husband good can be to her hateful;
In both his eyes remains his wife’s visage!
How then can man be unkind to his wife?
The better shouldn’t be kept bitter all life.
poem by John Celes
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Curtain
VILLAIN shows his indiscretion,
Villain's partner makes confession.
Juvenile, with golden tresses,
Finds her pa and dons long dresses.
Scapegrace comes home money-laden,
Hero comforts tearful maiden,
Soubrette marries loyal chappie,
Villain skips, and all are happy.
poem by Paul Laurence Dunbar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Day and Night
I love you in the morning
when dew lies on the grass
As gentle light comes sneaking
and night's shadows slowly pass
I love you in the afternoon
when sky turns vivid blue
As nature's pallet brightens
and my thoughts return to you
I love you in the evening
when day gently winds down
As nature dons her slippers
and a softly flowing gown
I love you in night's darkness
when warmth of bodies meet
As I lie with you in fullness
and my yearnings are complete
Your love is with me day and night
and comes in many flavors
As joy fills up my being
and never seems to waver
poem by Mark Bratlie
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Beauty Rises
Beauty rises
Stars set black
As dawn awakens
The unyielding skies
Beauty rises
From slumbers grasp
Drinks coffee
Dons her mask
Beauty rises
To meet the day
Another away
Another day
poem by Chuck Cowan
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Spanish Women
The Spanish women don't wear slacks
Because their hips are too enormous.
'Tis true each bulbous bosom lacks
No inspiration that should warm us;
But how our ardor seems to freeze
When we behold their bulgy knees!
Their starry eyes and dusky hair,
Their dazzling teeth in smile so gracious,
I love, but oh I wish they were
Not so confoundedly curvacious.
I'm sure I would prefer them willowy,
Instead of obviously pillowy.
It may be that they're plump because
The caballeros like them that way;
Since men are lean and Nature's laws
Of contrast sway them to the fat way:
For few their dames as much adore, as
The señors love their sleek señoras.
Well, each according to his taste.
The dons prefer their women lardy,
But me, I likes a tiny waist,
And breast that fits a hand that's hardy:
In short, my bottom money backs
The baby who looks well in slacks.
poem by Robert William Service
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
On return to Mumbai
The city is daylong and sea –backed
The sea-child deeply dangled his feet
Into the sea at the misty radio club
Near the cockroach-ridden sea palace
Bringing back a tide of memories
Years ago, I had bought my identity
Here, in a piece of paper, full of lies
And endless possibilities of hurt
In the fragrant harbour to come.
Now the sea is calm but afraid
I see Rukmini’s lying-in hospital
Along with the juice hair parlours.
Stock- brokers rub rotund stomachs.
Scared dons account for deaths
There, at the junction, in a sea of cars
Stand these muddy-haired children
They have a nasty habit of poking
Their outstretched grubby hands
Directly into the holes of your eyes.
poem by Jagannath rao Adukuri
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!