Gilbert Keith Chesterton

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

Gilbert Keith Chesterton Poems

1. The novels of Jane Austen 10/15/2015
2. Whenever William Cobbett 10/15/2015
3. Sonnet With The Compliments Of The Season 10/24/2014
4. Alliterativism 10/24/2014
5. To Edmund Clerihew Bentley 10/24/2014
6. Confessional 10/24/2014
7. The Song Of Elf 10/24/2014
8. When Fishes Flew 10/24/2014
9. This Is The Sort Of Book We Like 10/24/2014
10. Modern Elfland 4/15/2012
11. Tribute To Gladstone 4/15/2012
12. Rotarians 4/15/2012
13. The New Omar 1/1/2004
14. The Horrible History Of Jones 4/15/2012
15. The Song Of The Wheels 4/15/2012
16. The Philanthropist 4/15/2012
17. St, Francis Xavier 4/15/2012
18. The Mystery 4/15/2012
19. The New Fiction 4/15/2012
20. To St. Micheal In Time Of Peace 4/15/2012
21. The Wise Men 4/15/2012
22. The Modern Manichee 4/15/2012
23. The Praise Of Dust 4/15/2012
24. The Song Of The Oak 1/1/2004
25. A Ballade Of An Anti-Puritan 4/15/2012
26. The Ballad Of St. Barbara 4/15/2012
27. The Myth Of Arthur 1/1/2004
28. A Ballad Of Theatricals 4/15/2012
29. The Ballad Of God-Makers 4/15/2012
30. The Judgement Of England 4/15/2012
31. A Christmas Carol 4/15/2012
32. Cyclopean 4/15/2012
33. Jealousy 4/15/2012
34. A Broad Minded Bishop Rebukes The Verminous St. Francis 4/15/2012
35. The Wife Of Flanders 1/1/2004
36. Variations Of An Air 1/1/2004
37. Songs Of Education 4/15/2012
38. The Holy Of Holies 1/1/2004
39. Here Is The Little Door 4/15/2012
40. The Song Of The Strange Ascetic 1/1/2004

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Best Poem of Gilbert Keith Chesterton

The Donkey

When fishes flew and forests walked
And figs grew upon thorn,
Some moment when the moon was blood,
Then surely I was born;

With monstrous head and sickening cry
And ears like errant wings,
The devil's walking parody
On all four-footed things.

The tattered outlaw of the earth,
Of ancient crooked will;
Starve, scourge, deride me: I am dumb,
I keep my secret still.

Fools! For I also had my hour;
One far fierce hour and sweet:
There was a shout about my ears,
And palms before my feet.

Read the full of The Donkey

The New Freethinker

John Grubby who was short and stout
And troubled with religious doubt,
Refused about the age of three
To sit upon the curate's knee;
(For so the eternal strife must rage
Between the spirit of the age
And Dogma, which, as is well known,
Does simply hate to be outgrown).
Grubby, the young idea that shoots,

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