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Best Famous Eyeglass Poems

Here is a collection of the all-time best famous Eyeglass poems. This is a select list of the best famous Eyeglass poetry. Reading, writing, and enjoying famous Eyeglass poetry (as well as classical and contemporary poems) is a great past time. These top poems are the best examples of eyeglass poems.

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Written by Anne Sexton | Create an image from this poem

The Doctor Of The Heart

 Take away your knowledge, Doktor.
It doesn't butter me up.
You say my heart is sick unto.
You ought to have more respect! you with the goo on the suction cup.
You with your wires and electrodes fastened at my ankle and wrist, sucking up the biological breast.
You with your zigzag machine playing like the stock market up and down.
Give me the Phi Beta key you always twirl and I will make a gold crown for my molar.
I will take a slug if you please and make myself a perfectly good appendix.
Give me a fingernail for an eyeglass.
The world was milky all along.
I will take an iron and press out my slipped disk until it is flat.
But take away my mother's carcinoma for I have only one cup of fetus tears.
Take away my father's cerebral hemorrhage for I have only a jigger of blood in my hand.
Take away my sister's broken neck for I have only my schoolroom ruler for a cure.
Is there such a device for my heart? I have only a gimmick called magic fingers.
Let me dilate like a bad debt.
Here is a sponge.
I can squeeze it myself.
O heart, tobacco red heart, beat like a rock guitar.
I am at the ship's prow.
I am no longer the suicide with her raft and paddle.
Herr Doktor! I'll no longer die to spite you, you wallowing seasick grounded man.


Written by William Topaz McGonagall | Create an image from this poem

An All-Night Sea Fight

 Ye sons of Mars, come list to me,
And I will relate to ye
A great and heroic naval fight,
Which will fill your hearts with delight.
The fight was between the French Frigate "Pique" and the British Frigate "Blanche," But the British crew were bold and staunch; And the battle was fought in West Indian waters in the year of 1795, And for to gain the victory the French did nobly strive.
And on the morning of the 4th of January while cruising off Gadulope, The look-out man from the foretop loudly spoke, And cried, "Sail ahoy!" "Where away ?" "On the lee bow, close in shore, sir," was answered without delay.
Then Captain Faulkner cried, "Clear the decks!" And the French vessel with his eyeglass he inspects; And he told his men to hoist the British flag, And "prepare my heroes to pull down that French rag.
" Then the "Blanche" made sail and bore away In the direction of the "Pique" without delay; And Captain Fauikner cried, "Now, my lads, bear down on him, And make ready quickly and begin.
" It was about midnight when the Frenchman hove in sight, And could be seen distinctly in the starlight; And for an hour and a half they fired away Broadsides into each other without dismay.
And with tne rapid flashes the Heavens were aflame, As each volley from the roaring cannons came; And the incessant roll of musketry was awful to hear, As it broke over the silent sea and smote upon the ear.
The French vessel had nearly 400 men, Her decks were literally crowded from stem to stern; And the musketeers kept up a fierce fire on the " Blanche," But still the "Blanche" on them did advance.
And the "Blanche's" crew without dismay Fired a broadside into the "Pique" without delay, Which raked her fore and aft, and knocked her to smash, And the mizzen mast fell overboard with a terrible crash.
Then the Frenohmen rushed forward to board the "Blanche," But in doing so they had a very poor chance, For the British Tars in courage didn't lack, Because thrice in succession on their own deck they were driven back.
Then "Brave, my lads!" Captain Faulkner loudly cries, "Lash her bowsprit to our capstan, she's our prize"; And he seized some ropes to lash round his foe, But a musket ball pierced his heart and laid him low.
Then a yell of rage burst from the noble crew, And near to his fallen body they drew; And tears for his loss fell fast on the deck, Their grief was so great their tears they conldn 't check.
The crew was very sorry for their captain's downfall, But the sight didn't their brave hearts appall; Because they fastened the ropes to the "Pique" at the capstan, And the "Pique" was dragged after the "Blanche," the sight was grand.
Yet the crew of the "Pique" maintained the fight, Oh! most courageously they fought in the dead of night; And for two hours they kept up firing without dismay, But it was a sacrifice of human life, they had to give way.
And about five o'clock in the morning the French cried for quarter, Because on board there had been a great slaughter; Their Captain Consail was mortally wounded in the fight Along with many officers and men; oh! it was a heartrending sight To see the wounded and dead weltering in their gore After the cannonading had ceased and the fighting was o'er.
Written by Andrew Barton Paterson | Create an image from this poem

The Amateur Rider

 Him goin' to ride for us! Him -- with the pants and the eyeglass and all.
Amateur! don't he just look it -- it's twenty to one on a fall.
Boss must be gone off his head to be sending out steeplechase crack Out over fences like these with an object like that on his back.
Ride! Don't tell me he can ride.
With his pants just as loose as balloons, How can he sit on a horse? and his spurs like a pair of harpoons; Ought to be under the Dog Act, he ought, and be kept off the course.
Fall! why, he'd fall off a cart, let alone off a steeplechase horse.
* * Yessir! the 'orse is all ready -- I wish you'd have rode him before; Nothing like knowing your 'orse, sir, and this chap's a terror to bore; Battleaxe always could pull, and he rushes his fences like fun -- Stands off his jump twenty feet, and then springs like a shot from a gun.
Oh, he can jump 'em all right, sir, you make no mistake, 'e's a toff -- Clouts 'em in earnest, too, sometimes; you mind that he don't clout you off -- Don't seem to mind how he hits 'em, his shins is as hard as a nail, Sometimes you'll see the fence shake and the splinters fly up from the rail.
All you can do is to hold him and just let him jump as he likes, Give him his head at the fences, and hang on like death if he strikes; Don't let him run himself out -- you can lie third or fourth in the race -- Until you clear the stone wall, and from that you can put on the pace.
Fell at that wall once, he did, and it gave him a regular spread, Ever since that time he flies it -- he'll stop if you pull at his head, Just let him race -- you can trust him -- he'll take first-class care he don't fall, And I think that's the lot -- but remember, he must have his head at the wall.
* * Well, he's down safe as far as the start, and he seems to sit on pretty neat, Only his baggified breeches would ruinate anyone's seat -- They're away -- here they come -- the first fence, and he's head over heels for a crown! Good for the new chum! he's over, and two of the others are down! Now for the treble, my hearty -- By Jove, he can ride, after all; Whoop, that's your sort -- let him fly them! He hasn't much fear of a fall.
Who in the world would have thought it? And aren't they just going a pace? Little Recruit in the lead there will make it a stoutly-run race.
Lord! but they're racing in earnest -- and down goes Recruit on his head, Rolling clean over his boy -- it's a miracle if he ain't dead.
Battleaxe, Battleaxe, yet! By the Lord, he's got most of 'em beat -- Ho! did you see how he struck, and the swell never moved in his seat? Second time round, and, by Jingo! he's holding his lead of 'em well; Hark to him clouting the timber! It don't seem to trouble the swell.
Now for the wall -- let him rush it.
A thirty-foot leap, I declare -- Never a shift in his seat, and he's racing for home like a hare.
What's that that's chasing him -- Rataplan -- regular demon to stay! Sit down and ride for your life now! Oh, good, that's the style -- come away! Rataplan's certain to beat you, unless you can give him the slip, Sit down and rub in the whalebone -- now give him the spurs and the whip! Battleaxe, Battleaxe, yet -- and it's Battleaxe wins for a crown; Look at him rushing the fences, he wants to bring t'other chap down.
Rataplan never will catch him if only he keeps on his pins; Now! the last fence, and he's over it! Battleaxe, Battleaxe wins! * * Well, sir, you rode him just perfect -- I knew from the fust you could ride.
Some of the chaps said you couldn't, an' I says just like this a' one side: Mark me, I says, that's a tradesman -- the saddle is where he was bred.
Weight! you're all right, sir, and thank you; and them was the words that I said.

Book: Reflection on the Important Things