Once, after long-drawn revel at The Mermaid,
He to the overbearing Boanerges
Jonson, uttered (if half of it were liquor,
Blessed be the vintage!)
Saying how, at an alehouse under Cotswold,
He had made sure of his very Cleopatra,
Drunk with enormous, salvation-con temning
Love for a tinker.
How, while he hid from Sir Thomas's keepers,
Crouched in a ditch and drenched by the midnight
Dews, he had listened to gipsy Juliet
Rail at the dawning.
How at Bankside, a boy drowning kittens
Winced at the business; whereupon his sister--
Lady Macbeth aged seven--thrust 'em under,
How on a Sabbath, hushed and compassionate--
She being known since her birth to the townsfolk--
Stratford dredged and delivered from Avon
So, with a thin third finger marrying
Drop to wine-drop domed on the table,
Shakespeare opened his heart till the sunrise--
Entered to hear him.
London wakened and he, imperturbable,
Passed from waking to hurry after shadows . . .
Busied upon shows of no earthly importance?
Yes, but he knew it!
Read this poem in other languages
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
Comments about this poem (The Craftsman by Rudyard Kipling )
The Road Not Taken
If You Forget Me
Still I Rise
Edgar Allan Poe
I Know Why The Caged Bird Sings
Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening
William Ernest Henley
- Midnight Yellow Moon, Kyle Schlicher
- x, Aloke Mukherjee
- A Message From Heaven, Clara Keiper
- Account for, Madrason writer
- Rural Hiding Raper, Albert Martin
- Noemer bepaald, Madrason writer
- Wind was high, Aloke Mukherjee
- A Few Pieces Of Paper, Kyle Schlicher
- Carnal Succubus, Is It Poetry
- The Music Just Stops, mike scully