THE Satyr Scarabombardon Pulled periwig and breeches on: "Grown old and stiff, this modern dress Adds monstrously to my distress. The gout within a hoofen heel Is very hard to bear; I feel When crushed into a buckled shoe The twinge will be redoubled, too; And when I walk in gardens green And, weeping, think on what has been, Then wipe one eye, -- the other sees The plums and cherries on the trees. Small bird-quick women pass me by With sleeves that flutter airily, And baskets blazing like a fire With laughing fruits of my desire: Plums sunburnt as the King of Spain, Gold-cheeked as any Nubian, With strawberries all goldy-freckled, Pears fat as thrushes and as speckled. Pursue them? . . . Yes, and squeeze a tear: 'Please spare poor Satyr one, my dear!' 'Be off, sir! Go and steal your own!' -- Alas, poor Scarabombardon, Trees rend his ruffles, stretch a twig, Tear off a satyr's periwig!" | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...ON A PORTRAIT OF WORDSWORTH BY B.R. HAYDON by ELIZABETH BARRETT BROWNING A BOOK OF AIRS: SONG 19. THE FAIRY QUEEN PROSERPINA by THOMAS CAMPION THE DARK MAN by NORA (CHESSON) HOPPER DEAD IN THE SIERRAS by CINCINNATUS HEINE MILLER CLIO, NINE ECLOGUES IN HONOUR OF NINE VIRTUES: 7. OF HOSPITALITY by WILLIAM BASSE EPISTLE TO HER FRIENDS AT GARTMORE by SUSANNA BLAMIRE WIND SONG by LUCIA PEARL BOORNAZIAN |