William Ernest Henley
O, the fun, the fun and frolic
That The Wind that Shakes the Barley
Scatters through a penny-whistle
Tickled with artistic fingers!
Kate the scrubber (forty summers,
Stout but sportive) treads a measure,
Grinning, in herself a ballet,
Fixed as fate upon her audience.
Stumps are shaking, crutch-supported;
Splinted fingers tap the rhythm;
And a head all helmed with plasters
Wags a measured approbation.
Of their mattress-life oblivious,
All the patients, brisk and cheerful,
Are encouraging the dancer,
And applauding the musician.
Dim the gas-lights in the output
Of so many ardent smokers,
Full of shadow lurch the corners,
And the doctor peeps and passes.
There are, maybe, some suspicions
Of an alcoholic presence . . .
'Tak' a sup of this, my wumman!' . . .
New Year comes but once a twelvemonth.
William Ernest Henley's Other Poems
Read this poem in other languages
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
Comments about this poem (Interlude by William Ernest Henley )
Did you read them?
- My Address, gajanan mishra
- With dogs and rats, Aftab Alam
- If I Were A Child, Randy McClave
- Who Wilt Preach?, Sir Toby
- Uncle Ikey's Last Words No.43, Robert Graber
- A Balance Of Opinion, Richard Provencher
- Till you come, micheal john
- The Thing Betwixt The Ears, Buxton Shippy
- Going To Heaven, Tony Adah
- Your Party, Dog goD 8Hate