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    The Wild Knight and Other Poems
    The Wild Knight and Other Poems
    The Wild Knight and Other Poems
    Ebook77 pages43 minutes

    The Wild Knight and Other Poems

    By G. K. Chesterton

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    Gilbert Keith Chesterton, KC (29 May 1874 – 14 June 1936), was an English writer, poet, philosopher, dramatist, journalist, orator, lay theologian, biographer, and literary and art critic. Chesterton is often referred to as the "prince of paradox". Time magazine has observed of his writing style: "Whenever possible Chesterton made his points with popular sayings, proverbs, allegories—first carefully turning them inside out."
    Chesterton is well known for his fictional priest-detective Father Brown, and for his reasoned apologetics. Even some of those who disagree with him have recognised the wide appeal of such works as Orthodoxy and The Everlasting Man.
    LanguageEnglish
    Publisheranamsaleem
    Release dateNov 27, 2018
    ISBN9788829567584
    Author

    G. K. Chesterton

    G.K. Chesterton (1874–1936) was an English writer, philosopher and critic known for his creative wordplay. Born in London, Chesterton attended St. Paul’s School before enrolling in the Slade School of Fine Art at University College. His professional writing career began as a freelance critic where he focused on art and literature. He then ventured into fiction with his novels The Napoleon of Notting Hill and The Man Who Was Thursday as well as a series of stories featuring Father Brown.

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      Book preview

      The Wild Knight and Other Poems - G. K. Chesterton

      The Wild Knight and Other Poems

      G. K. Chesterton

      .

      _Another tattered rhymster in the ring,

      With but the old plea to the sneering schools,

      That on him too, some secret night in spring

      Came the old frenzy of a hundred fools

      To make some thing: the old want dark and deep,

      The thirst of men, the hunger of the stars,

      Since first it tinged even the Eternal's sleep,

      With monstrous dreams of trees and towns and mars.

      When all He made for the first time He saw,

      Scattering stars as misers shake their pelf.

      Then in the last strange wrath broke His own law,

      And made a graven image of Himself._

      BY THE BABE UNBORN

      If trees were tall and grasses short,

      As in some crazy tale,

      If here and there a sea were blue

      Beyond the breaking pale,

      If a fixed fire hung in the air

      To warm me one day through,

      If deep green hair grew on great hills,

      I know what I should do.

      In dark I lie: dreaming that there

      Are great eyes cold or kind,

      And twisted streets and silent doors,

      And living men behind.

      Let storm-clouds come: better an hour,

      And leave to weep and fight,

      Than all the ages I have ruled

      The empires of the night.

      I think that if they gave me leave

      Within that world to stand,

      I would be good through all the day

      I spent in fairyland.

      They should not hear a word from me

      Of selfishness or scorn,

      If only I could find the door,

      If only I were born.

      THE WORLD'S LOVER

      My eyes are full of lonely mirth:

      Reeling with want and worn with scars,

      For pride of every stone on earth,

      I shake my spear at all the stars.

      A live bat beats my crest above,

      Lean foxes nose where I have trod,

      And on my naked face the love

      Which is the loneliness of God.

      Outlawed: since that great day gone by—

      When before prince and pope and queen

      I stood and spoke a blasphemy—

      'Behold the summer leaves are green.'

      They cursed me: what was that to me

      Who in that summer darkness furled,

      With but an owl and snail to see,

      Had blessed and conquered all the world?

      They bound me to the scourging-stake,

      They laid their whips of thorn on me;

      I wept to see the green rods break,

      Though blood be beautiful to see.

      Beneath the gallows' foot abhorred

      The crowds cry 'Crucify!' and 'Kill!'

      Higher the priests sing, 'Praise the Lord,

      The warlock dies'; and higher still

      Shall heaven and earth hear one cry sent

      Even from the hideous gibbet height,

      'Praise to the Lord Omnipotent,

      The vultures have a feast to-night.'

      THE SKELETON

      Chattering finch and water-fly

      Are not merrier than I;

      Here among the flowers I lie

      Laughing everlastingly.

      No: I may not tell the best;

      Surely, friends, I might have guessed

      Death was but the good King's jest,

      It was hid so carefully.

      A CHORD OF COLOUR

      My Lady clad herself in grey,

      That caught and clung about her throat;

      Then all the long grey winter day

      On me a living splendour smote;

      And why grey palmers holy are,

      And why grey minsters great in story,

      And grey skies ring the morning star,

      And grey hairs are a crown of glory.

      My Lady clad herself in green,

      Like meadows where the wind-waves pass;

      Then round my spirit spread, I ween,

      A splendour of forgotten grass.

      Then all that dropped

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