Famous Long Humorous Poems

Famous Long Humorous Poems. Long Humorous Poetry by Famous Poets. A collection of the all-time best Humorous long poems

See also: Long Member Poems

 I

I doubt if ten men in all Tilbury Town 
Had ever shaken hands with Captain Craig, 
Or called him by his name, or looked at him 
So curiously, or so concernedly, 
As they had looked at ashes; but a few—
Say five or six of us—had found somehow 
The spark in him, and we had fanned it there, 
Choked under, like a jest in Holy Writ, 
By Tilbury prudence. He had lived his life 
And in his way had shared, with all mankind,
Inveterate leave to fashion of himself, 
By some resplendent metamorphosis, 
Whatever he was not. And after time, 
When it had come sufficiently to pass 
That he was going patch-clad through the streets,
Weak, dizzy, chilled, and half starved, he had laid 
Some nerveless fingers on a prudent sleeve, 
And told the sleeve, in furtive confidence, 
Just how it was: “My name is Captain Craig,” 
He said, “and I must eat.” The sleeve moved on,
And after it moved others—one or two; 
For Captain Craig, before the day was done, 
Got back to the scant refuge of his bed 
And shivered into it without a curse— 
Without a murmur even. He was cold,
And old, and hungry; but the worst of it...
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 O purblind race of miserable men, 
How many among us at this very hour 
Do forge a life-long trouble for ourselves, 
By taking true for false, or false for true; 
Here, through the feeble twilight of this world 
Groping, how many, until we pass and reach 
That other, where we see as we are seen! 

So fared it with Geraint, who issuing forth 
That morning, when they both had got to horse, 
Perhaps because he loved her passionately, 
And felt that tempest brooding round his heart, 
Which, if he spoke at all, would break perforce 
Upon a head so dear in thunder, said: 
'Not at my side. I charge thee ride before, 
Ever a good way on before; and this 
I charge thee, on thy duty as a wife, 
Whatever happens, not to speak to me, 
No, not a word!' and Enid was aghast; 
And forth they rode, but scarce three paces on, 
When crying out, 'Effeminate as I am, 
I will not fight my way with gilded arms, 
All shall be iron;' he loosed a mighty purse, 
Hung at his belt, and hurled it toward the squire. 
So the last sight that Enid had of home 
Was all...
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 THE HOUSE OF DUST
A Symphony

BY
CONRAD AIKEN

To Jessie

NOTE

. . . Parts of this poem have been printed in "The North American
Review, Others, Poetry, Youth, Coterie, The Yale Review". . . . I am
indebted to Lafcadio Hearn for the episode called "The Screen Maiden"
in Part II.


 This text comes from the source available at 
 Project Gutenberg, originally prepared by Judy Boss 
 of Omaha, NE.

THE HOUSE OF DUST


PART I.


I.

The sun goes down in a cold pale flare of light.
The trees grow dark: the shadows lean to the east:
And lights wink out through the windows, one by one.
A clamor of frosty sirens mourns at the night.
Pale slate-grey clouds whirl up from the sunken sun.

And the wandering one, the inquisitive dreamer of dreams,
The eternal asker of answers, stands in the street,
And lifts his palms for the first cold ghost of rain.
The purple lights leap down the hill before him.
The gorgeous night has begun again.

'I will ask them all, I will ask them all their dreams,
I will hold my light above them and seek their faces.
I will hear them whisper, invisible in their veins . . .'
The eternal asker of answers becomes as the darkness,
Or as a wind blown over a myriad forest,
Or...
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