Gilbert Keith Chesterton

(29 May 1874 – 14 June 1936 / London, England)

Gilbert Keith Chesterton Poems

1. Sonnet With The Compliments Of The Season 10/24/2014
2. Alliterativism 10/24/2014
3. To Edmund Clerihew Bentley 10/24/2014
4. Confessional 10/24/2014
5. This Is The Sort Of Book We Like 10/24/2014
6. The Song Of Elf 10/24/2014
7. When Fishes Flew 10/24/2014
8. Rotarians 4/15/2012
9. Tribute To Gladstone 4/15/2012
10. Modern Elfland 4/15/2012
11. The New Omar 1/1/2004
12. The Horrible History Of Jones 4/15/2012
13. The Modern Manichee 4/15/2012
14. The Song Of The Wheels 4/15/2012
15. The Philanthropist 4/15/2012
16. Jealousy 4/15/2012
17. Songs Of Education 4/15/2012
18. St, Francis Xavier 4/15/2012
19. The Mystery 4/15/2012
20. To St. Micheal In Time Of Peace 4/15/2012
21. Here Is The Little Door 4/15/2012
22. The Judgement Of England 4/15/2012
23. The Praise Of Dust 4/15/2012
24. The Wise Men 4/15/2012
25. The New Fiction 4/15/2012
26. The Song Of The Oak 1/1/2004
27. A Ballade Of An Anti-Puritan 4/15/2012
28. The Ballad Of St. Barbara 4/15/2012
29. A Ballad Of Theatricals 4/15/2012
30. The Myth Of Arthur 1/1/2004
31. The Ballad Of God-Makers 4/15/2012
32. A Christmas Carol 4/15/2012
33. Cyclopean 4/15/2012
34. A Broad Minded Bishop Rebukes The Verminous St. Francis 4/15/2012
35. Variations Of An Air 1/1/2004
36. A Ballad Of Abbreviations 4/15/2012
37. The Wife Of Flanders 1/1/2004
38. The Road To Roundabout 1/1/2004
39. The Logical Vegetarian 1/1/2004
40. The Ballad Of The Anti-Puritan 1/1/2004
Best Poem of Gilbert Keith Chesterton

The Rolling English Road

Before the Roman came to Rye or out to Severn strode,
The rolling English drunkard made the rolling English road.
A reeling road, a rolling road, that rambles round the shire,
And after him the parson ran, the sexton and the squire;
A merry road, a mazy road, and such as we did tread
The night we went to Birmingham by way of Beachy Head.

I knew no harm of Bonaparte and plenty of the Squire,
And for to fight the Frenchman I did not much desire;
But I did bash their baggonets because they came arrayed
To straighten out the crooked road an English drunkard ...

Read the full of The Rolling English Road

The Old Song

A livid sky on London
And like the iron steeds that rear
A shock of engines halted
And I knew the end was near:
And something said that far away, over the hills and far away
There came a crawling thunder and the end of all things here.
For London Bridge is broken down, broken down, broken down,
As digging lets the daylight on the suken streets of yore,
The lightning looked on London town, the broken bridge of London

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