A poem by the 19th century American poet, Emily Dickinson.
—
There is no frigate like a book
To take us lands away,
Nor any coursers like a page
Of prancing poetry.
This traverse may the poorest take
Without oppress of toll;
How frugal is the chariot
That bears a human soul!
I came across the below poem while browsing through a recently acquired collection of the poems of Emily Dickinson.
—
Look back on time with kindly eyes,
He doubtless did his best;
How softly sinks his trembling sun
In human nature’s west!
He tried to make his verse rhyme
But it became worser and worser.
‘Twas perverse
To see
Dog rhyme with tree.
He cudgelled his brains to produce poetry fine
And was convinced beer rhymes with wine.
Inspiration from the great poets he took
And was certain Emily Dickinson
Was Brontae’s sister
And Heathcliff could not resist her.
Finally from the top of Wuthering Heights
He jumped
Hitting the moors with a plop
But his bad poems
Just would not halt.
It was his very great fault
He did not decease
And leave his readers in tranquillity!
Papa above!
Regard a Mouse
O’erpowered by the Cat!
Reserve within thy kingdom
A “Mansion” for the Rat!
Snug in seraphic Cupboards
To nibble all the day
While unsuspecting Cycles
Wheel solemnly away!
K Morris - Poet 