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Classic and Contemporary Poetry
THE GENERAL PUBLIC, by STEPHEN VINCENT BENET Poet Analysis Poet's Biography First Line: Shelley? Oh, yes, I saw him often then Last Line: "thrice in the face. He made good sport that night." Subject(s): Poetry & Poets; Shelley, Percy Bysshe (1792-1822) | |||
"Ah, did you once see Shelley plain?" -- Browning. "Shelley? Oh, yes, I saw him often then," The old man said. A dry smile creased his face With many wrinkles. "That's a great poem, now! That one of Browning's! Shelley? Shelley plain? The time that I remember best is this -- A thin mire crept along the rutted ways, And all the trees were harried by cold rain That drove a moment fiercely and then ceased, Falling so slow it hung like a grey mist Over the school. The walks were like blurred glass. The buildings reeked with vapor, black and harsh Against the deepening darkness of the sky; And each lamp was a hazy yellow moon, Filling the space about with golden motes, And making all things larger than they were. One yellow halo hung above a door, That gave on a black passage. Round about Struggled a howling crowd of boys, pell-mell, Pushing and jostling like a stormy sea, With shouting faces, turned a pasty white By the strange light, for foam. They all had clods, Or slimy balls of mud. A few gripped stones. And there, his back against the battered door, His pile of books scattered about his feet, Stood Shelley while two others held him fast, And the clods beat upon him. 'Shelley! Shelley!' The high shouts rang through all the corridors, 'Shelley! Mad Shelley! Come along and help!' And all the crowd dug madly at the earth, Scratching and clawing at the streaming mud, And fouled each other and themselves. And still Shelley stood up. His eyes were like a flame Set in some white, still room; for all his face Was white, a whiteness like no human color, But white and dreadful as consuming fire. His hands shook now and then, like slender cords Which bear too heavy weights. He did not speak. So I saw Shelley plain." "And you?" I said. "I? I threw straighter than the most of them, And had firm clods. I hit him -- well, at least Thrice in the face. He made good sport that night." | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...SHELLEY'S ARETHUSA SET TO NEW MEASURES by ROBERT DUNCAN OZYMANDIAS REVISITED by MORRIS GILBERT BISHOP MEMORABILIA by ROBERT BROWNING ROME. AT THE PYRAMID OF CESTIUS NEAR THE GRAVES OF SHELLEY by THOMAS HARDY SHELLEY'S SKYLARK by THOMAS HARDY TO SHELLEY by JOHN BANISTER TABB THE GRAVE OF SHELLEY by OSCAR WILDE A MINOR POET by STEPHEN VINCENT BENET ARCHIMEDES LAST FORAY by STEPHEN VINCENT BENET CAMPUS SONNET: BEFORE AN EXAMINATION by STEPHEN VINCENT BENET |
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