Gilbert Keith Chesterton

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

The Song Of Quoodle - Poem by Gilbert Keith Chesterton

They haven't got no noses,
The fallen sons of Eve;
Even the smell of roses
Is not what they supposes;
But more than mind discloses
And more than men believe.

They haven't got no noses,
They cannot even tell
When door and darkness closes
The park a Jew encloses,
Where even the law of Moses
Will let you steal a smell.

The brilliant smell of water,
The brave smell of a stone,
The smell of dew and thunder,
The old bones buried under,
Are things in which they blunder
And err, if left alone.

The wind from winter forests,
The scent of scentless flowers,
The breath of brides' adorning,
The smell of snare and warning,
The smell of Sunday morning,
God gave to us for ours

*

And Quoodle here discloses
All things that Quoodle can,
They haven't got no noses,
They haven't got no noses,
And goodness only knowses
The Noselessness of Man.


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Read poems about / on: warning, believe, winter, water, wind, alone, god, song, flower, son, rose



Poem Submitted: Thursday, January 1, 2004

Poem Edited: Tuesday, January 6, 2015


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