William Henry Drummond

(13 April, 1854 – 6 April, 1907 / Mohill, County Leitrim)

William Henry Drummond Poems

1. The Habitants Jubilee Ode 4/12/2010
2. The Grand Seigneur 4/12/2010
3. My Little Cabane 4/12/2010
4. The Canadian Magpie 4/12/2010
5. The Dublin Fusilier 4/12/2010
6. The Hill Of San Sebastian 4/12/2010
7. The Cure Of Calumette 4/12/2010
8. Marie Louise 4/12/2010
9. The Oyster Schooner 4/12/2010
10. The Old Sexton 4/12/2010
11. Mon Choual 4/12/2010
12. National Policy 4/12/2010
13. Ole Docteur Fiset 4/12/2010
14. The Corduroy Road 4/12/2010
15. Mon Frere Camille 4/12/2010
16. Maxime Labelle 4/12/2010
17. Strathcona's Horse 4/12/2010
18. Two Hundred Years Ago 4/12/2010
19. The Habitants Summer 4/12/2010
20. Memories 4/12/2010
21. The Rose Delima 4/12/2010
22. The Old Pine Tree 4/12/2010
23. Pelang 4/12/2010
24. The Old House And The New 4/12/2010
25. When Albani Sang 4/12/2010
26. Little Mouse 4/12/2010
27. The Red Canoe 4/12/2010
28. Bateese The Lucky Man 4/12/2010
29. Spring Bereaved 3 1/4/2003
30. The Canadian Country Doctor 4/12/2010
31. Johnnie's First Moose 4/12/2010
32. Donal Campbell 4/12/2010
33. De Camp On De 4/12/2010
34. The Windigo 4/12/2010
35. Dreams 4/12/2010
36. Leetle Lac Grenier 4/12/2010
37. Spring Bereaved 1 1/4/2003
38. Ole Tam On Bord-A-Plouffe 4/12/2010
39. De Bell Of St. Michel 4/12/2010
40. Madrigal 1/4/2003
Best Poem of William Henry Drummond

Little Bateese

1 You bad leetle boy, not moche you care
2 How busy you 're kipin' your poor gran'pere
3 Tryin' to stop you ev'ry day
4 Chasin' de hen aroun' de hay--
5 W'y don't you geev' dem a chance to lay?
6 Leetle Bateese!

7 Off on de fiel' you foller de plough
8 Den w'en you 're tire you scare the cow
9 Sickin' de dog till dey jomp the wall
10 So de milk ain't good for not'ing at all--
11 An' you 're only five an' a half dis fall,
12 Leetle Bateese!

13 Too sleepy for sayin' de prayer to-night?
14 Never min'...

Read the full of Little Bateese

Inexorable

MY thoughts hold mortal strife;
   I do detest my life,
   And with lamenting cries
   Peace to my soul to bring
Oft call that prince which here doth monarchise:
   --But he, grim-grinning King,
Who caitiffs scorns, and doth the blest surprise,
Late having deck'd with beauty's rose his tomb,
Disdains to crop a weed, and will not come.

[Hata Bildir]