Arthur Guiterman

(1871-1943 / United States)

Arthur Guiterman Poems

1. Radiolatry 4/13/2010
2. The Traveler 4/13/2010
3. Homeward Bound 3/19/2015
4. Truth and Falsehood 5/8/2015
5. A Valentine 5/9/2015
6. Youth and Age 5/15/2015
7. The First Cat 5/23/2015
8. The Ambiguous Dog 5/27/2015
9. A Boy and a Pup 5/27/2015
10. The Mother 6/2/2015
11. The Superstitious Ghost 6/4/2015
12. How the Birds Came 7/2/2015
13. The Bee 7/22/2015
14. The Wings of the Mountains 7/27/2015
15. Falsehood and Sin 8/10/2015
16. Hallowe'en Charm 11/23/2015
17. New Year, 1918 12/11/2015
18. A Bill from Cupid 2/4/2016
19. Fame 4/8/2016
20. Pipes of Pan 5/25/2016
21. The Phlebotomous Flea 4/13/2010
22. Rags And Robes 4/13/2010
23. My Hills Of Dreams 4/13/2010
24. Our Suburb 4/13/2010
25. Going To Dover 4/13/2010
26. The Passionate Suburbanite To His Love 4/13/2010
27. Ragnarok {the Twilight Of The Gods} 4/13/2010
28. Sea Sickness 4/13/2010
29. What One Approves, Another Scorns 4/13/2010
30. This is She 8/8/2015
31. Pithecanthropus Erectus 4/13/2010
32. The Dream Of Chuang Tzu 12/13/2014
33. Pershing At The Front 4/13/2010
34. The Great Tyrannosaurus 4/13/2010
35. The Legend Of The First Cam-U-El: An Arabian Apologue 4/13/2010
36. The Idol-Maker Prays 1/4/2003
37. Hills 4/13/2010
38. Safety First 4/13/2010
39. Kindness To Insects 4/13/2010
40. Nocturne 4/13/2010
Best Poem of Arthur Guiterman

Strictly Germ-Proof

The Antiseptic Baby and the Prophylactic Pup
Were playing in the garden when the Bunny gamboled up;
They looked upon the Creature with a loathing undisguised;—
It wasn't Disinfected and it wasn't Sterilized.

They said it was a Microbe and a Hotbed of Disease;
They steamed it in a vapor of a thousand-odd degrees;
They froze it in a freezer that was cold as Banished Hope
And washed it in permanganate with carbolated soap.

In sulphurated hydrogen they steeped its wiggly ears;
They trimmed its frisky whiskers with a pair of hard-boiled shears;
They ...

Read the full of Strictly Germ-Proof

In The Hospital

Because on the branch that is tapping my pane
   A sun-wakened leaf-bud, uncurled,
Is bursting its rusty brown sheathing in twain,
   I know there is Spring in the world.

Because through the sky-patch whose azure and white
   My window frames all the day long,
A yellow-bird dips for an instant of flight,
   I know there is Song.

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