by G.K. Chesterton
If trees were tall and grasses short,
As in some crazy tale,
If here and there a sea were blue
Beyond the breaking pale,
If a fixed fire hung in the air
To warm me one day through,
If deep green hair grew on great hills,
I know what I should do.
In dark I lie; dreaming that there
Are great eyes cold or kind,
And twisted streets and silent doors,
And living men behind.
Let storm clouds come: better an hour,
And leave to weep and fight,
Than all the ages I have ruled
The empires of the night.
I think that if they gave me leave
Within the world to stand,
I would be good through all the day
I spent in fairyland.
They should not hear a word from me
Of selfishness or scorn,
If only I could find the door,
If only I were born.
2 Comments
July 8, 2009 at 8:09 pm
That reminds me of a poem my dad wrote back 30 years ago:
Oh, little, tiny child of mine,
I’ve made to know the glory of thine
Own hands upon your mother’s chest.
A tender, fragile person blessed
With sweet blue loving baby eyes,
For laughing laughs and crying cries.
I’ve made your legs so strong and sure,
To one day walk with sweet demure.
Your smile to make some boy’s heart ache,
A heart to give and not to take.
To think of thoughts uniquely you,
To do things no one can do.
Now come into my hallowed room,
They’ve killed you in your mother’s womb.
July 11, 2009 at 11:00 pm
Wow, that’s a powerful poem. Has he written any other similar stuff?