1827; Or, The Poet's Last Poem Poem Rhyme Scheme

Recent Interactions*

This poem was read 6 times,

This poem was added to the favorite list by 0 members,

This poem was voted by 0 members.

(* Interactions only in the last 7 days)

New Poems

A Guidebook To My Future Friends
by Aditi Mukherjee
Ndihamba Ndisekhona" Chant Beat: Stomp-stomp-clap, Stomp-stomp-clap
by Asher Chipu
Ledige Praatjies
by Asher Chipu
Life Is Working
by Asher Chipu
The Knocking To The Door
by Asher Chipu
Ubizo: What You Are Called To Do
by Asher Chipu
Sum Obsession
by Asher Chipu
Locust
by Asher Chipu
Eden Passing
by Asher Chipu
I Am The Silence
by Asher Chipu

Popular Poets

1. Emily Dickinson(2415 poems)
2. Madison Julius Cawein(1231 poems)
3. Ella Wheeler Wilcox(1136 poems)
4. William Wordsworth(1016 poems)
5. Robert Burns(986 poems)
6. Edgar Albert Guest(945 poems)
7. Thomas Moore(849 poems)
8. Robert Service(831 poems)

Ye Bards in all your thousand dens	A
Great souls with fewer pence than pens	A
Sublime adorers of Apollo	B
With folios full and purses hollow	B
Whose very souls with rapture glisten	C
When you can find a fool to listen	C
Who if a debt were paid by pun	C
Would never be completely done	C
Ye bright inhabitants of garrets	D
Whose dreams are rich in ports and clarets	D
Who in your lofty paradise	D
See aldermanic banquets rise	D
And though the duns around you troop	E
Still float in seas of turtle soup	E
I here forsake the tuneful trade	F
Where none but lordlings now are paid	F
Or where some northern rogue sits puling	G
The curse of universal schooling	G
A ploughman to his country lost	H
An author to his printer's cost	I
A slave to every man who'll buy him	J
A knave to every man who'll try him	J
Yet let him take the pen at once	D
The laurel gathers round his sconce	D
	-
On every subject superseded	K
My favorite topics all invaded	K
I scarcely dip my pen in praise	D
When fifty bardlings grasp my bays	D
Or let me touch a drop of satire	L
I once knew something of the matter	L
Just fifty bardlings take the trouble	M
To be my tuneful worship's double	M
Fine similies that nothing fit	N
Joe Miller's that must pass for wit	N
The dull dry brain besieging jokes	D
The humour that no laugh provokes	D
The nameless worthless witless rancours	D
The rage that souls of scribblers cankers	D
Administer'd in gall go thick	G
It makes even Sunday critic's sick	G
Disgust my passion fill my place	D
And snatch my prize before my face	D
	-
If then I take the brilliant pen	O
And scorning measures talk of men	O
There Luttrel steps 'twixt me and fame	P
So like egad we're just the same	P
I never half squeeze out a thought	Q
But jumps its fellow on the spot	R
My tenderest dreams my fondest touch	S
Are victims to his ready clutch	S
The whirling waltz the gay costume	T
The porcelain tooth the gallic bloom	T
The vapid smiles the lisping loves	D
Of turtles never meant for doves	D
The dreary stuff that fills the ears	D
Where all the orators are peers	D
The hides reveal'd through ball room dresses	D
Where all the parties are peer esses	D
The dulness of the toujours gai	G
The yawning night the sleepy day	G
The visages of cheese and chalk	G
The drowsy dreamy languid talk	G
The fifty other horrid things	D
That strip old Time of both his wings	D
There's not a topic of them all	U
But comes hey presto at his call	U
	-
Or when I turn my pen to love	V
A theme that fits me like my glove	V
A pang I've borne these twenty years	D
With ten times twenty several dears	D
Each glance a dart each smile a quiver	L
Stinging their bard from lungs to liver	L
To work my ruin or my cure	W
Up starts thy pen Anacreon Moore	W
In vain I pour my shower of roses	D
On which the matchless fair one dozes	D
And plant around her conch the graces	D
While jealous Venus breaks her laces	D
To see a younger face promoted	K
To see her own old face out voted	K
And myrtle branches twisting o'er her	L
Bow down each turn'd a true adorer	L
Up starts the Irish Bard in vain	X
I write 'tis all against the grain	X
In vain I talk of smiles or sighs	D
The girls all have him in their eyes	D
And not a soul mamma or miss	D
But vows he's the sole Bard of Bliss	D
	-
Since first I dipp'd in the romantic	G
A hundred thousand have run frantic	G
There's not a hideous highland spot	R
Long fallowed to the core by Scott	R
No rill through rack and thistle dribbling	G
But has its deadlier crop of scribbling	G
Each fen and flat and flood and fell	Y
Gives birth to verses by the ell	Y
There Wordsworth for his muse's sallies	D
Claims all the ponds the lanes and alleys	D
There Coleridge swears none else shall tune	Z
A bag pipe to the list'ning moon	Z
On come in clouds the scribbling columns	D
Each prowling for his next three volumes	D
I scorn the rascal tribe and spurn all	U
The yearly monthly and diurnal	M
	-
I write the finest things that ever	L
Made duchess fond or marquiss clever	L
Although I'd rather half turn Turk	G
The thing's such monstrous up hill work	G
My ton's the very cream of fashion	C
My passion the sublimest passion	C
My rage satanic love the same	P
Of all blue flames the bluest flame	P
My piety perpetual matins	D
A quaker propp'd on double pattens	D
My lovely girls the most precocious	D
My beaus delightfully atrocious	D
Yet scarcely have I play'd my card	A2
When up comes politician Ward	B2
Before my face he trumps my trump	C2
Sweeps off my honours in the lump	C2
And never asking my permission	C
Talks sermons to the third edition	C
	-
Or Boulogne Highway Byeway Grattan	C
The Pyrenees begin to flatten	C
A feast denied to storm and shower	L
The pen's the wonder working power	L
Or Smith the master of Addresses	D
Carves history out in modern messes	D
Tells how gay Charles cook'd up his collops	D
How fleeced his friends how paid his trollops	D
How pledged his soul and pawn'd his oath	D2
'Till none would give a straw for both	D2
And touching paupers for the Evil	M
Touch'd England half way to the devil	M
Or Hook picks up my favorite hits	D
For when was friendship between wits	D
Or Lyster doubly dandyfied	B2
Fidgets his donkey by my side	B2
Or Bulwer rambles back from Greece	D
Woolgathering from the Golden fleece	D
Or forty volumes piping hot	B2
Come blazing from volcano Scott	B2
When pens like their's play all my game	P
The tasteless world must bear the blame	P
	-
I had a budget full of fan	E2
But here again I'm lost undone	C
I'm so forestall'd that faith I could	B2
Half quarrel with my lively Hood	B2
For odd it is my Oddities	D
Are even all the same with his	D
Would Sherwood him of Paternoster	L
Assist my pilferings to foster	L
I'd turn free booter nay I would	B2
E'en play the part of robbing Hood	B2
But brother Wits should never quarrel	M
Nor try to pluck each other's laurel	M
And tho' my income's scarce enough	F2
To find friend Petersham with snuff	F2
Here's peace to all and kind regards	D
And Brother Hood among the Bards	D
	-
So all friends countrymen and lovers	D
With one or one and twenty covers	D
Farewell to all my glories past	B2
I pen my lay my sweetest last	B2
Another Phoenix build my nest	B2
Of spices Phoebus' very best	B2
Concentrating in these gay pages	D
Wit worth the wit of all the stages	D
Love tender as the midnight talk	G
In softest summer's midnight walk	G
With leave to all earth's fools to spurn 'em	G2
Nay if they first will buy to burn 'em	G2

Thomas Gent

1827; Or, The Poet's Last Poem Poem Rhyme Scheme and Analysis

About 1827; Or, The Poet's Last Poem

Write your comment about 1827; Or, The Poet's Last Poem poem by Thomas Gent

Recent Interactions*

New Poems

Popular Poets