Joseph Skipsey

(March 17, 1832 - September 3,1903 / Percy, Northumberland)

Joseph Skipsey Poems

121. To A Startled Bird 9/15/2014
122. The Vital Spark: An Inner Voice 9/15/2014
123. The Downfall Of Mammon; Or, The Poet's Dream 9/15/2014
124. The Riddle Read 9/15/2014
125. The Mission 9/15/2014
126. Behind The Veil 9/15/2014
127. The Theft 9/4/2014
128. Lost At The Fair 9/4/2014
129. Extreme Kindness 9/10/2014
130. Steeds And Their Riders 9/10/2014
131. The Soul's Hereafter 9/15/2014
132. The Thought Toiler 9/15/2014
133. The Guardian Angel 9/15/2014
134. Man What Is He? 9/23/2014
135. The Inner Conflict 9/15/2014
136. The Vision 9/6/2014
137. Just So 9/11/2014
138. Life And Death 9/8/2014
139. Thistle And Nettle 9/3/2014
140. Nanny To Bessy 9/4/2014
141. A Lullaby 9/4/2014
142. The Collier Lad 9/4/2014
143. The Fatal Errand 9/3/2014
144. Hey Robin 9/3/2014
145. Arachne 9/4/2014
146. Not Jealous 9/10/2014
147. Jack The Rover 9/10/2014
148. What Is Man? 9/15/2014
149. Annie Lee 9/3/2014
150. The Bridal Gift 9/4/2014
151. Uncouth Things 9/10/2014
152. Robin Redbreast 9/4/2014
153. Bubble-Blowing 9/6/2014
154. The Darling 1/3/2003
155. Get Up! 1/3/2003
156. The Hartley Calamity 1/3/2003
157. The Dewdrop 1/1/2004
158. Mother Wept 1/1/2004
159. The Butterfly 1/1/2004
Best Poem of Joseph Skipsey

The Butterfly

The butterfly from flower to flower
The urchin chas’d; and, when at last
He caught it in my lady’s bower,
He cried, “Ha, ha!” and held it fast.

Awhile he laugh’d, but soon he wept,
When looking at the prize he’d caught
He found he had to ruin swept
The very glory he had sought

Read the full of The Butterfly

Get Up!

Get up!" the caller calls, "Get up!"
And in the dead of night,
To win the bairns their bite and sup,
I rise a weary wight.

My flannel dudden donn'd, thrice o'er
My birds are kiss'd, and then
I with a whistle shut the door,
I may not ope again.

[Report Error]