Gilbert Keith Chesterton
Gilbert Keith Chesterton Poems
|82.||Who Goes Home?||1/1/2004|
|84.||A Prayer In Darkness||1/1/2004|
|85.||Elegy In A Country Churchyard||1/1/2004|
|88.||The Secret People||1/1/2004|
|89.||The Ballad Of The White Horse||1/1/2004|
|90.||A Child Of The Snows||1/1/2004|
|92.||The Last Hero||1/1/2004|
|93.||A Ballade Of Suicide||1/1/2004|
|95.||The Rolling English Road||1/1/2004|
Comments about Gilbert Keith Chesterton
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.
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.