Gilbert Keith Chesterton
Gilbert Keith Chesterton Poems
|81.||The Secret People||1/1/2004|
|83.||Who Goes Home?||1/1/2004|
|84.||The Ballad Of The White Horse||1/1/2004|
|85.||A Child Of The Snows||1/1/2004|
|88.||A Little Litany||1/1/2004|
|89.||Elegy In A Country Churchyard||1/1/2004|
|92.||The Last Hero||1/1/2004|
|93.||The Rolling English Road||1/1/2004|
|95.||A Prayer In Darkness||1/1/2004|
|96.||A Ballade Of Suicide||1/1/2004|
Comments about Gilbert Keith Chesterton
A Ballade Of Suicide
The gallows in my garden, people say,
Is new and neat and adequately tall;
I tie the noose on in a knowing way
As one that knots his necktie for a ball;
But just as all the neighbours--on the wall--
Are drawing a long breath to shout "Hurray!"
The strangest whim has seized me. . . . After all
I think I will not hang myself to-day.
To-morrow is the time I get my pay--
My uncle's sword is hanging in the hall--
I see a little cloud all pink and grey--
Perhaps the rector's mother will not call-- I fancy that I heard from Mr. Gall
That mushrooms could be ...
The Great Minimum
It is something to have wept as we have wept,
It is something to have done as we have done,
It is something to have watched when all men slept,
And seen the stars which never see the sun.
It is something to have smelt the mystic rose,
Although it break and leave the thorny rods,
It is something to have hungered once as those
Must hunger who have ate the bread of gods.