Classic and Contemporary Poetry
THE POET AND THE FLY: 1, by CHARLES STUART CALVERLEY Poet's Biography First Line: Round the poet, ere he slumbered Last Line: He had shut the creature in. Subject(s): Flies | ||||||||
ROUND the Poet, ere he slumbered, Sang the Fly thro' hours unnumbered; Sauntered, if he seemed to doze, O'er the arch that was his nose, Darting thence to re-appear In his subtly-chambered ear: When at last he slept right soundly, It transfixed him so profoundly, Caused him agony so horrid, That he woke and smote his forehead (It's the course that poets take When they're trifled with) and spake: -- "Fly! Thy brisk unmeaning buzz Would have roused the man of Uz; And, besides thy buzzing, I Fancy thou'rt a stinging fly. Fly -- who'rt peering, I am certain, At me now from yonder curtain: Busy, curious, thirsty fly (As thou'rt clept, I well know why) -- Cease, if only for a single Hour, to make my being tingle! Flee to some loved haunt of thine; To the valleys where the kine, Udder-deep in grasses cool, Or the rushy-margined pool, Strive to lash thy murmurous kin (Vainly) from their dappled skin! Round the steed's broad nostrils flit, Till he foams and champs the bit, And, reluctant to be bled, Tosses high his lordly head. I have seen a thing no larger Than thyself assail a charger; He -- who unconcerned would stand All the braying of the band, Who disdained trombone and drum -- Quailed before that little hum. I have seen one flaunt his feelers 'Fore the steadiest of wheelers, And at once the beast would bound, Kangaroo-like, off the ground. Lithe o'er moor and marish hie, Like thy king, the Dragon-fly; With the burnished bee skim over Sunlit uplands white with clover; Or, low-brooding on the lea, Warn the swain of storms to be! -- Need I tell thee how to act? Do just anything in fact. Haunt my cream ('twill make thee plump), Filch my sugar, every lump; Round my matin-coat keep dodging, In my necktie find a lodging (Only, now that I reflect, I Rather seldom wear a necktie); Perforate my Sunday hat; (It's a new one -- what of that?) Honeycomb my cheese, my favourite, Thy researches will but flavour it; Spoil my dinner-beer, and sneak up Basely to my evening tea-cup; Palter with my final toddy; But respect my face and body! Hadst thou been a painted hornet, Or a wasp, I might have borne it; But a common fly or gnat! Come, my friend, get out of that." Dancing down, the insect here Stung him smartly on the ear; For a while -- like some cheap earring -- Clung there, then retreated jeering. (As men jeer, in prose or rhyme, So may flies, in pantomime; We discern not in their buzz Language, but the poet does.) Long he deemed him at Death's door; Then sprang featly to the floor, Seized his water-jug and drank its Whole contents; hung several blankets Round his lair and pinned them fast: "I shall rest," he moaned, "at last." But anon a ghastlier groan To the shuddering night made known That with blanket and with pin He had shut the creature IN. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...THE FLY, FR. SONGS OF EXPERIENCE by WILLIAM BLAKE THE BLUE-FLY by ROBERT RANKE GRAVES HIC VIR, HIC EST' by CHARLES STUART CALVERLEY |
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