Best Famous Goose Poems

A Sunshiny Shower

A sunshiny shower
Won't last half an hour.

The Owl And The Sparrow

 In elder days, in Saturn's prime,
Ere baldness seized the head of Time,
While truant Jove, in infant pride,
Play'd barefoot on Olympus' side,
Each thing on earth had power to chatter,
And spoke the mother tongue of nature.

Each stock or stone could prate and gabble,
Worse than ten labourers of Babel.

Along the street, perhaps you'd see
A Post disputing with a Tree,
And mid their arguments of weight,
A Goose sit umpire of debate.

Each Dog you met, though speechless now,
Would make his compliments and bow,
And every Swine with congees come,
To know how did all friends at home.

Each Block sublime could make a speech,
In style and eloquence as rich,
And could pronounce it and could pen it,
As well as Chatham in the senate.



Nor prose alone.
--In these young times,
Each field was fruitful too in rhymes;
Each feather'd minstrel felt the passion,
And every wind breathed inspiration.

Each Bullfrog croak'd in loud bombastic,
Each Monkey chatter'd Hudibrastic;
Each Cur, endued with yelping nature,
Could outbark Churchill's[2] self in satire;
Each Crow in prophecy delighted,
Each Owl, you saw, was second-sighted,
Each Goose a skilful politician,
Each Ass a gifted met'physician,
Could preach in wrath 'gainst laughing rogues,
Write Halfway-covenant Dialogues,[3]
And wisely judge of all disputes
In commonwealths of men or brutes.



'Twas then, in spring a youthful Sparrow
Felt the keen force of Cupid's arrow:
For Birds, as Æsop's tales avow,
Made love then, just as men do now,
And talk'd of deaths and flames and darts,
And breaking necks and losing hearts;
And chose from all th' aerial kind,
Not then to tribes, like Jews, confined
The story tells, a lovely Thrush
Had smit him from a neigh'bring bush,
Where oft the young coquette would play,
And carol sweet her siren lay:
She thrill'd each feather'd heart with love,
And reign'd the Toast of all the grove.



He felt the pain, but did not dare
Disclose his passion to the fair;
For much he fear'd her conscious pride
Of race, to noble blood allied.

Her grandsire's nest conspicuous stood,
Mid loftiest branches of the wood,
In airy height, that scorn'd to know
Each flitting wing that waved below.

So doubting, on a point so nice
He deem'd it best to take advice.



Hard by there dwelt an aged Owl,
Of all his friends the gravest fowl;
Who from the cares of business free,
Lived, hermit, in a hollow tree;
To solid learning bent his mind,
In trope and syllogism he shined,
'Gainst reigning follies spent his railing;
Too much a Stoic--'twas his failing.



Hither for aid our Sparrow came,
And told his errand and his name,
With panting breath explain'd his case,
Much trembling at the sage's face;
And begg'd his Owlship would declare
If love were worth a wise one's care.



The grave Owl heard the weighty cause,
And humm'd and hah'd at every pause;
Then fix'd his looks in sapient plan,
Stretch'd forth one foot, and thus began.



"My son, my son, of love beware,
And shun the cheat of beauty's snare;
That snare more dreadful to be in,
Than huntsman's net, or horse-hair gin.

"By others' harms learn to be wise,"
As ancient proverbs well advise.

Each villany, that nature breeds,
From females and from love proceeds.

'Tis love disturbs with fell debate
Of man and beast the peaceful state:
Men fill the world with war's alarms,
When female trumpets sound to arms;
The commonwealth of dogs delight
For beauties, as for bones, to fight.

Love hath his tens of thousands slain,
And heap'd with copious death the plain:
Samson, with ass's jaw to aid,
Ne'er peopled thus th'infernal shade.



"Nor this the worst; for he that's dead,
With love no more will vex his head.

'Tis in the rolls of fate above,
That death's a certain cure for love;
A noose can end the cruel smart;
The lover's leap is from a cart.

But oft a living death they bear,
Scorn'd by the proud, capricious fair.

The fair to sense pay no regard,
And beauty is the fop's reward;
They slight the generous hearts' esteem,
And sigh for those, who fly from them.



Just when your wishes would prevail,
Some rival bird with gayer tail,
Who sings his strain with sprightlier note,
And chatters praise with livelier throat,
Shall charm your flutt'ring fair one down,
And leave your choice, to hang or drown.



Ev'n I, my son, have felt the smart;
A Pheasant won my youthful heart.

For her I tuned the doleful lay,[4]
For her I watch'd the night away;
In vain I told my piteous case,
And smooth'd my dignity of face;
In vain I cull'd the studied phrase,
And sought hard words in beauty's praise.

Her, not my charms nor sense could move,
For folly is the food of love.

Each female scorns our serious make,
"Each woman is at heart a rake.
"[5]
Thus Owls in every age have said,
Since our first parent-owl was made;
Thus Pope and Swift, to prove their sense,
Shall sing, some twenty ages hence;
Then shall a man of little fame,
One ** **** sing the same.

The Tarts

The Lay of a Golden Goose

 Long ago in a poultry yard 
One dull November morn, 
Beneath a motherly soft wing 
A little goose was born.
 

Who straightway peeped out of the shell 
To view the world beyond, 
Longing at once to sally forth 
And paddle in the pond.
 

"Oh! be not rash," her father said, 
A mild Socratic bird; 
Her mother begged her not to stray 
With many a warning word.
 

But little goosey was perverse, 
And eagerly did cry, 
"I've got a lovely pair of wings, 
Of course I ought to fly.
" 

In vain parental cacklings, 
In vain the cold sky's frown, 
Ambitious goosey tried to soar, 
But always tumbled down.
 

The farmyard jeered at her attempts, 
The peacocks screamed, "Oh fie! 
You're only a domestic goose, 
So don't pretend to fly.
" 

Great cock-a-doodle from his perch 
Crowed daily loud and clear, 
"Stay in the puddle, foolish bird, 
That is your proper sphere," 

The ducks and hens said, one and all, 
In gossip by the pool, 
"Our children never play such pranks; 
My dear, that fowl's a fool.
" 

The owls came out and flew about, 
Hooting above the rest, 
"No useful egg was ever hatched 
From transcendental nest.
" 

Good little goslings at their play 
And well-conducted chicks 
Were taught to think poor goosey's flights 
Were naughty, ill-bred tricks.
 

They were content to swim and scratch, 
And not at all inclined 
For any wild goose chase in search 
Of something undefined.
 

Hard times she had as one may guess, 
That young aspiring bird, 
Who still from every fall arose 
Saddened but undeterred.
 

She knew she was no nightingale 
Yet spite of much abuse, 
She longed to help and cheer the world, 
Although a plain gray goose 

She could not sing, she could not fly, 
Nor even walk, with grace, 
And all the farmyard had declared 
A puddle was her place.
 

But something stronger than herself 
Would cry, "Go on, go on! 
Remember, though an humble fowl, 
You're cousin to a swan.
" 

So up and down poor goosey went, 
A busy, hopeful bird.
 
Searched many wide unfruitful fields, 
And many waters stirred.
 

At length she came unto a stream 
Most fertile of all Niles, 
Where tuneful birds might soar and sing 
Among the leafy isles.
 

Here did she build a little nest 
Beside the waters still, 
Where the parental goose could rest 
Unvexed by any bill.
 

And here she paused to smooth her plumes, 
Ruffled by many plagues; 
When suddenly arose the cry, 
"This goose lays golden eggs.
" 

At once the farmyard was agog; 
The ducks began to quack; 
Prim Guinea fowls relenting called, 
"Come back, come back, come back.
" 

Great chanticleer was pleased to give 
A patronizing crow, 
And the contemptuous biddies clucked, 
"I wish my chicks did so.
" 

The peacocks spread their shining tails, 
And cried in accents soft, 
"We want to know you, gifted one, 
Come up and sit aloft.
" 

Wise owls awoke and gravely said, 
With proudly swelling breasts, 
"Rare birds have always been evoked 
From transcendental nests!" 

News-hunting turkeys from afar 
Now ran with all thin legs 
To gobble facts and fictions of 
The goose with golden eggs.
 

But best of all the little fowls 
Still playing on the shore, 
Soft downy chicks and goslings gay, 
Chirped out, "Dear Goose, lay more.
" 

But goosey all these weary years 
Had toiled like any ant, 
And wearied out she now replied 
"My little dears, I can't.
 

"When I was starving, half this corn 
Had been of vital use, 
Now I am surfeited with food 
Like any Strasbourg goose.
" 

So to escape too many friends, 
Without uncivil strife, 
She ran to the Atlantic pond 
And paddled for her life.
 

Soon up among the grand old Alps 
She found two blessed things, 
The health she had so nearly lost, 
And rest for weary limbs.
 

But still across the briny deep 
Couched in most friendly words, 
Came prayers for letters, tales, or verse 
From literary birds.
 

Whereat the renovated fowl 
With grateful thanks profuse, 
Took from her wing a quill and wrote 
This lay of a Golden Goose.

Ride Away, Ride Away

Ride away, ride away,
  Johnny shall ride,
And he shall have pussy-cat
  Tied to one side;
And he shall have little dog
  Tied to the other,
And Johnny shall ride
  To see his grandmother.