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...TO A SCREEN-MAKER by MARIANNE MOORE THE AEOLIAN HARP by SAMUEL TAYLOR COLERIDGE MADRIGAL: 1 by WILLIAM DRUMMOND OF HAWTHORNDEN RAILROAD RHYME by JOHN GODFREY SAXE EPIGRAM: 27. THE FRUIT by THOMAS WYATT |