Gilbert Keith Chesterton

(29 May 1874 – 14 June 1936 / London, England)

Gilbert Keith Chesterton Poems

1. The Rolling English Road 1/1/2004
2. A Ballade Of Suicide 1/1/2004
3. The Donkey 1/1/2004
4. A Child Of The Snows 1/1/2004
5. Elegy In A Country Churchyard 1/1/2004
6. Americanisation 1/1/2004
7. A Hymn 1/1/2004
8. The Ballad Of The White Horse 1/1/2004
9. Lepanto 1/1/2004
10. A Prayer In Darkness 1/1/2004
11. Gold Leaves 1/1/2004
12. The Last Hero 1/1/2004
13. A Song Of Defeat 1/1/2004
14. Who Goes Home? 1/1/2004
15. The Secret People 1/1/2004
16. A Cider Song 1/1/2004
17. A Little Litany 1/1/2004
18. Ecclesiastes 1/1/2004
19. The Latest School 1/1/2004
20. Wine And Water 1/1/2004
21. On The Disastrous Spread Of Aestheticism In All Classes 1/1/2004
22. Eternities 1/1/2004
23. The Aristocrat 1/1/2004
24. The Old Song 1/1/2004
25. The Song Of Right And Wrong 1/1/2004
26. Femina Contra Mundum 1/1/2004
27. The Strange Music 1/1/2004
28. An Answer To Frances Cornford 1/1/2004
29. The Unpardonable Sin 1/1/2004
30. The Black Virgin 1/1/2004
31. The Song Of Education 1/1/2004
32. Antichrist, Or The Reunion Of Christendom: An Ode 1/1/2004
33. The Human Tree 1/1/2004
34. The Shakespeare Memorial 1/1/2004
35. The Convert 1/1/2004
36. The Towers Of Time 1/1/2004
37. The Englishman 1/1/2004
38. The New Freethinker 1/1/2004
39. The Sword Of Suprise 1/1/2004
40. The House Of Christmas 1/1/2004
Best Poem of Gilbert Keith Chesterton

The Rolling English Road

Before the Roman came to Rye or out to Severn strode,
The rolling English drunkard made the rolling English road.
A reeling road, a rolling road, that rambles round the shire,
And after him the parson ran, the sexton and the squire;
A merry road, a mazy road, and such as we did tread
The night we went to Birmingham by way of Beachy Head.

I knew no harm of Bonaparte and plenty of the Squire,
And for to fight the Frenchman I did not much desire;
But I did bash their baggonets because they came arrayed
To straighten out the crooked road an English drunkard ...

Read the full of The Rolling English Road

The Great Minimum

It is something to have wept as we have wept,
It is something to have done as we have done,
It is something to have watched when all men slept,
And seen the stars which never see the sun.

It is something to have smelt the mystic rose,
Although it break and leave the thorny rods,
It is something to have hungered once as those
Must hunger who have ate the bread of gods.

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