What could be dafter Than John Skelton’s laughter? What sound more tenderly Than his pretty poetry? So where to rank old Skelton?
‘Gabble—gabble, . . . brethren, .… My window frames forest and heathe… I hardly hear the tuneful babble, Not knowing nor much caring whethe… The text is praise or exhortation,
Here down this very way, Here only yesterday King Faun went leaping. He sang, with careless shout Hurling his name about;
I never dreamed we’d meet that day In our old haunts down Fricourt w… Plotting such marvellous journeys… For jolly old “Après—la—guerre.” Well, when it’s over, first we’ll…
One moonlit night a ship drove in, A ghost ship from the west, Drifting with bare mast and lone t… Like a mermaid drest In long green weed and barnacles:
LOOK at my knees, That island rising from the steamy… The candle’s a tall lightship; my… Are boats and barges anchored to t… With mighty cliffs all round;…
At Viscount Nelson’s lavish funer… While the mob milled and yelled ab… A General chatted with an Admiral… “One of your colleagues, Sir, rem… That Nelson’s exit, though to be…
Now I begin to know at last, These nights when I sit down to r… The form and measure of that vast God we call Poetry, he who stoops And leaps me through his paper hoo…
Entrance and exit wounds are silve… The track aches only when the rain… The one—legged man forgets his leg… The one—armed man his jointed wood… The blinded man sees with his ears…
The vague sea thuds against the ma… And from their fragments age-long… Pebbles like flowers. Or the vague weather wanders in th… And up spring flowers with coloure…
I’ve watched the Seasons passing… In the fields between La Bassée a… Primroses and the first warm day o… Red poppy floods of June, August, and yellowing Autumn, so
IT’S hard to know if you’re alive… When steel and fire go roaring thr… One moment you’ll be crouching at… Traversing, mowing heaps down half… The next, you choke and clutch at…
Are they blind, the lords of Gaza In their strong towers, Who declare Samson pillow—smother… And stripped of his powers? O stolid Philistines,
Love, Fear and Hate and Childish… Are here discreetly blent; Admire, you ladies, read, you boys… My Country Sentiment. But Kate says, 'Cut that anger an…
Near Clapham village, where field… Saint Edward met a beggar man. It was Christmas morning, the chu… The old man trembled for the fierc… Saint Edward cried, “It is monstr…