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Cold Are The Crabs

Rating: 3.0
Cold are the crabs that crawl on yonder hills,
Colder the cucumbers that grow beneath,
And colder still the brazen chops that wreathe
The tedious gloom of philosophic pills!
For when the tardy film of nectar fills
The simple bowls of demons and of men,
There lurks the feeble mouse, the homely hen,
And there the porcupine with all her quills.
Yet much remains - to weave a solemn strain
That lingering sadly - slowly dies away,
Daily departing with departing day
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COMMENTS
Ratnakar Mandlik 29 April 2020
A great life song well deserving classic poem of tthe day.
0 0 Reply
Kumarmani Mahakul 29 April 2020
Made second visit. Really it is a beautiful poem. It is nice to be selected this poem as the classic poem of the poem of the day.
3 1 Reply
Alison Mujati 29 April 2020
good poem, I liked the rhythm. may you read my poem The Blurred figure.
1 2 Reply
Ramesh T A 29 April 2020
This promising beginning of the poem kindles to read further to see something wise and great only to be left unfinished! nyAway thank you for sharing this Poet's poem here!
2 2 Reply
Dominic Windram 29 April 2020
An intriguing, innovative sonnet by the master of nonsense rhyme: Edward Lear (note the idiosyncratic, fragmentary concluding line...) . This particular poem, nothwithstanding its ostensible ' silliness', seems to suggest an overall sense of sorrow, or even despair.
2 0 Reply
Mahtab Bangalee 29 April 2020
Yet much remains - to weave a solemn strain That lingering sadly - slowly dies away, ...../// superb expression on the life and its decaying slowly///thanks for sharing and selecting as POD
0 3 Reply
Bernard F. Asuncion 30 April 2019
One of the best poems by Edward Lear......
1 3 Reply
Kumarmani Mahakul 29 April 2019
Coloured cucumbers grow beneath the cold are the crabs that crawl on yonder hills. This poem has rich imagery. This is excellently written.
2 3 Reply
Paul Amrod 29 April 2019
An absolute philosophical visionary with thoughts that conjure thoughts within.
2 2 Reply
Savita Tyagi 29 April 2019
Philosophy or strains of everyday life......all is defined by a poet’s outlook...the moment he/she picks the poem. Enjoyed the unique and interesting metaphors.
1 3 Reply

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