Classic and Contemporary Poetry
THE PHILOSOPHY OF THE PORCH, by HENRY AUSTIN DOBSON Poet Analysis Poet's Biography First Line: Across my neighbor's waste of whins Last Line: My modest patch of garden. Alternate Author Name(s): Dobson, Austin Subject(s): Neighbors | ||||||||
BY A SUMMER-DAY STOIC (TO ARTHUR MUNBY) 'Cultivons notre jardin.' -- VOLTAIRE. ACROSS my Neighbour's waste of whins For roods the rabbit burrows; You scarce can see where first begins His range of steaming furrows; I am not sad that he is great, He does not ask my pardon; Beside his wall I cultivate My modest patch of garden. I envy not my Neighbour's trees; To me it nowise matters Whether in east or western breeze His 'dry-tongued laurel patters.' Me too the bays become; but still, I sleep without narcotics, Though he should bind his brows at will With odorous exotics. Let Goodman Greenfat, glad to dine, With true bon-vivant's benison, Extol my Neighbour's wit and wine -- His virtue and his venison: I care not! Still for me the gorse Will blaze about the thicket; The Common's purblind pauper horse Will peer across my wicket; For me the geese will thread the furze, In hissing file, to follow The tinker's sputtering wheel that whirs Across the breezy hollow; And look, where smoke of gipsy huts Curls blue against the bushes -- That little copse is famed for nuts, For nightingales and thrushes! But hark! I hear my Neighbour's drums! Some dreary deputation Of Malice or of Wonder comes In guise of Adulation. Poor Neighbour! Though you 'call the tune,' One little pinch of care is Enough to clog a whole balloon Of aura popularis; Not amulets, nor epiderm As tough as armadillo's, Can shield you if Suspicion worm Between your poppied pillows; And though on ortolans you sup, Beside you shadowy sitters Can pour in your ungenial cup Unstimulating bitters. Let Envy crave, and Avarice save; Let Folly ride her circuit; I hold that -- on this side the grave -- To find one's vein and work it, To keep one's wants both fit and few, To cringe to no condition, To count a truthful friend or two -- May bound a man's ambition. Swell, South-wind, swell my Neighbour's sails; Fill, Fortune, fill his coffers; If Fate has made his role the whale's, And me the minnow's offers, I am not sad that he is great; He need not ask my pardon; Beside his wall I cultivate My modest patch of garden. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...BRIGHT SUN AFTER HEAVY SNOW by JANE KENYON THE MAN INTO WHOSE YARD YOU SHOULD NOT HIT YOUR BALL by THOMAS LUX PLASTIC BEATITUDE by LAURE-ANNE BOSSELAAR BESIDE MILL RIVER by MADELINE DEFREES HELSINKI, 1940 by ANSELM HOLLO THE POET'S TREE by CLARENCE MAJOR A FANCY FROM FONTENELLE by HENRY AUSTIN DOBSON |
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