Full Online Books
Authors Authors Short Stories Short Stories Long Stories Long Stories Funny Stories Funny Stories Love Stories Love Stories Stories For Kids Stories For Kids Poems Poems Essays Essays Nonfictions Nonfictions Plays Plays Folktales Folktales Fairy Tales Fairy Tales Fables Fables Learning Kitchen Learning Kitchen
Valid XHTML 1.0 Transitional Free Classified Website Without Registration Free Classified Website Daniel Company
Twitter Twitter Add book
Full Online Book HomePoemsA Ballade Of A Bore
Famous Authors (View All Authors)
A Ballade Of A Bore Post by :Debbied1 Category :Poems Author :Bert Leston Taylor Date :October 2011 Read :3281

Click below to download : A Ballade Of A Bore (Format : PDF)

A Ballade Of A Bore

When the weather is warm and the glass running high
And the odors of Araby tincture the air;
When the sun is aloft in a white and blue sky,
And the morrow holds promise of falling as fair;--
In spring or in summer I'm free to declare,
And the same I am equally free to maintain,
One person has power my peace to impair:
The man who tells limericks gives me a pain.

When the foliage flushes and summer is by,
And russet and red are the popular wear;
When the song of the woodland is changed to a sigh
And the horn of the hunter is heard by the hare;--
In the season of autumn I'm free to declare,
And my language is lucid and simple and plain,
One person's acquaintance I freely forswear:
The man with the limerick gives me a pain.

When the landscape is iced and the snow feathers fly,
When the fields are all bald and the trees are all bare,
And the prospect which nature presents to the eye
Is chiefly distinguished by glitter and glare;--
In the season of winter I'm free to declare
That the limerick person is flat and inane.
This person, I think, we could easily spare:
The man who tells limericks gives me a pain.


From New Year to Christmas I'm free to declare
That, for ways that are dull and for verse that is vain,
One bore is peculiar--and not at all rare:
The man with the limerick gives me a pain.

(The end)
Bert Leston Taylor's poem: Ballade Of A Bore

If you like this book please share to your friends :

The Pole The Pole

The Pole
(Tune: "Carcassonne.") I'm an old man, I'm eighty-three, I seldom get away; My work, it keeps me close at home-- I have no time for play. If it were not for the journey back, That so fatigues a soul, I'd like to take a little trip-- I never have seen the Pole. 'Tis said that in that favored place There is

The Land Of Rainbow's-end The Land Of Rainbow's-end

The Land Of Rainbow's-end
Young Faintheart lay on a wayside bank, Full prey to doubts and fears, When he did espy come trudging by A Pilgrim bent with years. His back was bowed and his step was slow, But his faith no years could bend, As he eagerly pressed to the rose-lit west And the Land of Rainbow's-End. "It's ho, for a pack!" sang the Pilgrim