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Best Famous Humpty Poems

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

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Written by James Joyce | Create an image from this poem

The Ballad of Persse OReilly

 Have you heard of one Humpty Dumpty
How he fell with a roll and a rumble
And curled up like Lord Olofa Crumple
By the butt of the Magazine Wall,
 (Chorus) Of the Magazine Wall,
 Hump, helmet and all?

He was one time our King of the Castle
Now he's kicked about like a rotten old parsnip.
And from Green street he'll be sent by order of His Worship
To the penal jail of Mountjoy
 (Chorus) To the jail of Mountjoy!
 Jail him and joy.

He was fafafather of all schemes for to bother us
Slow coaches and immaculate contraceptives for the populace,
Mare's milk for the sick, seven dry Sundays a week,
Openair love and religion's reform,
 (Chorus) And religious reform,
 Hideous in form.

Arrah, why, says you, couldn't he manage it?
I'll go bail, my fine dairyman darling,
Like the bumping bull of the Cassidys
All your butter is in your horns.
 (Chorus) His butter is in his horns.
 Butter his horns!

(Repeat) Hurrah there, Hosty, frosty Hosty, change that shirt
 on ye,
Rhyme the rann, the king of all ranns!


Balbaccio, balbuccio!

We had chaw chaw chops, chairs, chewing gum, the chicken-pox
 and china chambers
Universally provided by this soffsoaping salesman.
Small wonder He'll Cheat E'erawan our local lads nicknamed him.
When Chimpden first took the floor
 (Chorus) With his bucketshop store
 Down Bargainweg, Lower.

So snug he was in his hotel premises sumptuous
But soon we'll bonfire all his trash, tricks and trumpery
And 'tis short till sheriff Clancy'll be winding up his unlimited
 company
With the bailiff's bom at the door,
 (Chorus) Bimbam at the door.
 Then he'll bum no more.

Sweet bad luck on the waves washed to our island
The hooker of that hammerfast viking
And Gall's curse on the day when Eblana bay
Saw his black and tan man-o'-war.
 (Chorus) Saw his man-o'-war
 On the harbour bar.

Where from? roars Poolbeg. Cookingha'pence, he bawls
 Donnez-moi scampitle, wick an wipin'fampiny
Fingal Mac Oscar Onesine Bargearse Boniface
Thok's min gammelhole Norveegickers moniker
Og as ay are at gammelhore Norveegickers cod.
 (Chorus) A Norwegian camel old cod.
 He is, begod.


Lift it, Hosty, lift it, ye devil, ye! up with the rann,
 the rhyming rann!

It was during some fresh water garden pumping
Or, according to the Nursing Mirror, while admiring the monkeys
That our heavyweight heathen Humpharey
Made bold a maid to woo
 (Chorus) Woohoo, what'll she doo!
 The general lost her maidenloo!

He ought to blush for himself, the old hayheaded philosopher,
For to go and shove himself that way on top of her.
Begob, he's the crux of the catalogue
Of our antediluvial zoo,
 (Chorus) Messrs Billing and Coo.
 Noah's larks, good as noo.

He was joulting by Wellinton's monument
Our rotorious hippopopotamuns
When some bugger let down the backtrap of the omnibus
And he caught his death of fusiliers,
 (Chorus) With his rent in his rears.
 Give him six years.

'Tis sore pity for his innocent poor children
But look out for his missus legitimate!
When that frew gets a grip of old Earwicker
Won't there be earwigs on the green?
 (Chorus) Big earwigs on the green,
 The largest ever you seen.

 Suffoclose! Shikespower! Seudodanto! Anonymoses!

Then we'll have a free trade Gael's band and mass meeting
For to sod him the brave son of Scandiknavery.
And we'll bury him down in Oxmanstown
Along with the devil and the Danes,
 (Chorus) With the deaf and dumb Danes,
 And all their remains.

And not all the king's men nor his horses
Will resurrect his corpus
For there's no true spell in Connacht or hell
 (bis) That's able to raise a Cain.


Written by Lewis Carroll | Create an image from this poem

Preface to Hunting of the Snark

 PREFACE

If---and the thing is wildly possible---the charge of writing 
nonsense were ever brought against the author of this brief but 
instructive poem, it would be based, I feel convinced, on the line 

``Then the bowsprit got mixed with the rudder sometimes'' 

In view of this painful possibility, I will not (as I might) appeal 
indignantly to my other writings as a proof that I am incapable of 
such a deed: I will not (as I might) point to the strong moral 
purpose of this poem itself, to the arithmetical principles so 
cautiously inculcated in it, or to its noble teachings in Natural 
History---I will take the more prosaic course of simply explaining 
how it happened. 

The Bellman, who was almost morbidly sensitive about appearances, 
used to have the bowsprit unshipped once or twice a week to be 
revarnished, and it more than once happened, when the time came for 
replacing it, that no one on board could remember which end of the 
ship it belonged to. They knew it was not of the slightest use to 
appeal to the Bellman about it---he would only refer to his Naval 
Code, and read out in pathetic tones Admiralty Instructions which 
none of them had ever been able to understand---so it generally ended 
in its being fastened on, anyhow, across the rudder. The helmsman 
used to stand by with tears in his eyes: he knew it was all wrong, 
but alas! Rule 42 of the Code, ``No one shall speak to the Man at the 
Helm'', had been completed by the Bellman himself with the words 
``and the Man at the Helm shall speak to no one''. So remonstrance 
was impossible, and no steering could be done till the next 
varnishing day. During these bewildering intervals the ship usually 
sailed backwards. 

This office was usually undertaken by the Boots, who found in it 
a refuge from the Baker's constant complaints about the insufficient 
blacking of his three pairs of boots. 

As this poem is to some extent connected with the lay of the 
Jabberwock, let me take this opportunity of answering a question that 
has often been asked me, how to pronounce ``slithy toves''. The 
``i'' in ``slithy'' is long, as in ``writhe''; and ``toves'' is 
pronounced so as to rhyme with ``groves''. Again, the first ``o'' in 
``borogoves'' is pronounced like the ``o'' in ``borrow''. I have 
heard people try to give it the sound of the ``o'' in ``worry''. 
Such is Human Perversity. 

This also seems a fitting occasion to notice the other hard words in 
that poem. Humpty-Dumpty's theory, of two meanings packed into one 
word like a portmanteau, seems to me the right explanation for all. 

For instance, take the two words ``fuming'' and ``furious''. Make up 
your mind that you will say both words, but leave it unsettled which 
you will say first. Now open your mouth and speak. If your thoughts 
incline ever so little towards ``fuming'', you will say 
``fuming-furious''; if they turn, by even a hair's breadth, towards 
``furious'', you will say ``furious-fuming''; but if you have that 
rarest of gifts, a perfectly balanced mind, you will say 
``frumious''. 

Supposing that, when Pistol uttered the well-known words--- 

``Under which king, Bezonian? Speak or die!'' 

Justice Shallow had felt certain that it was either William or 
Richard, but had not been able to settle which, so that he could not 
possibly say either name before the other, can it be doubted that, 
rather than die, he would have gasped out ``Rilchiam!''.
Written by Anne Sexton | Create an image from this poem

The Fallen Angels

 They come on to my clean
sheet of paper and leave a Rorschach blot.
They do not do this to be mean,
they do it to give me a sign
they want me, as Aubrey Beardsley once said,
to shove it around till something comes.
Clumsy as I am,
I do it.
For I am like them -
both saved and lost,
tumbling downward like Humpty Dumpty
off the alphabet.

Each morning I push them off my bed
and when they get in the salad
rolling in it like a dog,
I pick each one out
just the way my daughter
picks out the anchoives.
In May they dance on the jonquils,
wearing out their toes,
laughing like fish.
In November, the dread month,
they suck the childhood out of the berries
and turn them sour and inedible.

Yet they keep me company.
They wiggle up life.
They pass out their magic
like Assorted Lifesavers.
They go with me to the dentist
and protect me form the drill.
At the same time,
they go to class with me
and lie to my students.

O fallen angel,
the companion within me,
whisper something holy
before you pinch me
into the grave.
Written by Mother Goose | Create an image from this poem

Humpty Dumpty

  Humpty Dumpty sat on a wall,Humpty Dumpty had a great fall;All the King's horses, and all the King's menCannot put Humpty Dumpty together again.

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