Everand Logo

Welcome to Everand!

  • Discover millions of ebooks, audiobooks, and so much more with a free trial

    Only $11.99/month after trial. Cancel anytime.

    The Wild Knight and Other Poems
    The Wild Knight and Other Poems
    The Wild Knight and Other Poems
    Ebook101 pages43 minutes

    The Wild Knight and Other Poems

    By Gilbert Keith Chesterton

    ()

    Read preview

    About this ebook

    The Wild Knight and Other Poems was written in the year 1900 by Gilbert Keith Chesterton. This book is one of the most popular novels of Gilbert Keith Chesterton, and has been translated into several other languages around the world.

    This book is published by Booklassic which brings young readers closer to classic literature globally.

    LanguageEnglish
    PublisherBooklassic
    Release dateJul 7, 2015
    ISBN9789635241996
    The Wild Knight and Other Poems
    Author

    Gilbert Keith Chesterton

    Gilbert Keith Chesterton, más conocido como G. K. Chesterton, fue un escritor y periodista británico de inicios del siglo XX. Cultivó, entre otros géneros, el ensayo, la narración, la biografía, la lírica, el periodismo y el libro de viajes. Se han referido a él como el «príncipe de las paradojas».​ Fecha de nacimiento: 29 de mayo de 1874, Kensington, Londres, Reino Unido Fallecimiento: 14 de junio de 1936, Beaconsfield, Reino Unido

    Read more from Gilbert Keith Chesterton

    Related to The Wild Knight and Other Poems

    Related ebooks

    Poetry For You

    View More
    View More

    Related podcast episodes

    Related articles

    • Article

      The Epic Of Gilgamesh

      Jan 1, 2020

      My friends, who can reach heaven? The monster bellows like a river swollen with flood.Many are consumed in his fiery breath. My friends, who can reach heaven? Let us ask the mountain for a sign.Let us cut the spirits from the cedars. My friends, who

      3 min read

    • Article

      Something About John Coltrane

      Sep 1, 2021

      Something about a tree in shallow sleepListening for what it wants to remember: The note of a seed, its neck sliding throughDirt and its confusion—nothing cleansed Of struggle. The weight lost after death,A confrontation of death. John Coltrane Even

      5 min read

    • Article

      from BLACK PASTORAL

      Nov 1, 2023

      somewheres, some lifetimes ago I have run so far, so long.There is nowhere I haven’t beenBut here, in this field, a bodyLength from the ragged brinkThat gives way to forest.I collapsed here, the thin, hard slipOf me whittled at both ends.I want badly

      4 min read

    • Article

      RHYME & REASON

      May 17, 2021

      RHYME & REASON
      1 min read

    • Article

      TEN POEMS Translations of Rafael Alberti

      May 1, 2024

      Throughout the centuries,through the nothingness of the world,I, without sleep, search for you. Behind me, imperceptible,without touching my shoulders,my dead angel keeps watch. Where is Paradise,Shadow, you who have been there?I ask silently. Cities

      3 min read

    • Article

      The Island (catullus 64)

      Mar 1, 2022

      Back then the evergreens tumbled downriverfrom the glaze-white runoff to the boot-stirred puddlesof amber young men who fulfilled our destiny,who clambered into ships, on horses, and in wagonspainting the newfound landscapes ours.Our calling was nobl

      9 min read

    • Article

      Two Poems by Joseph Brodsky

      May 12, 2020

      Two Poems by Joseph Brodsky
      7 min read

    • Article

      Mountain Time

      Jan 1, 2021

      In the air you don’t know who you are or where My own self feels it is in wind being born These are currents a man made one eighth of smokeless fire fears but chooses A path south from Anchorage to a Mountain House Ungovern the northern land to pass

      10 min read

    • Article

      Five Poems

      Nov 1, 2020

      The American linden sways nonplussed by the storm,a bounce here, a shimmy there, just shaking like musicleft over from the night’s end wafting into the avenues before sleep.I remember once walking down Clinton Street, and singingthat line returning,

      4 min read

    • Article

      [FROM THE GRIMOIRE]: Spell For Binding A Man To A Man

      Jun 3, 2021

      Not by amulets but by words and scents and signs:the air awake and still, blue as flag or water hyacinth.Tone of neutrality. Color of equality. A middle spacewhere like things congregate, all motion all energy— as the bond was with my Lord and his Ap

      1 min read

    • Article

      Tessa Castro

      May 4, 2022

      IN COMPETITION No 279 you were invited to write a poem called Broken Bottle. Basil Ransome-Davies portrayed himself as ‘The man who dropped his wine in Marks’, by Bateman. Mike Morrison’s narrator found that the wind had knocked from the shelf ‘A nov

      2 min read

    • Article

      The Call Of The Wild

      Nov 30, 2020

      The Call Of The Wild
      2 min read

    • Article

      Until The Sea Closed Over Us And The Light Was Gone

      Jul 1, 2020

      —Dante, Canto XXVI But if the truth is dreamed of toward the morning—El Paso Although it was really last summer’s song,all this summer Despacito played on as slower then I turned myself to gazeupon Juarez. The summer everything hurts my eyes, a dozen

      6 min read

    • Article

      Two Poems

      Jan 1, 2021

      Pre-apocalypse, things take on a certain radiance our eye the dystopian lens lingering on death: a field of corpses, say— then resting on an amber ditch where the assassin’s flicked cigar flares red. And now I’m eating wasps. Did you know that figs a

      2 min read

    • Article

      In the Dolomites

      Sep 1, 2019

      1. The afternoon walk, it turns out, may not have been a walk at all.Nor can I locate in the Dolomites the placeWhere we met, though I remember It with a level of detailUsually I reserve for things of consequence.Snow layered in the crevices, white

      4 min read

    • Article

      Tessa Castro

      Jul 26, 2023

      IN COMPETITION No 295 you were invited to write a poem called Roots. Cherry MacGregor started off in medias res: ‘Has the vine died? My husband had asked,/ As we enjoyed lunch in the garden.’ Another excellent opening came from DM Davis: ‘Roots, oh m

      2 min read

    • Article

      Four Poems

      Jan 1, 2021

      I learned the world through the bottoms of my feet, barein the creeks of summer, stepping on pebbles, the squidgeof moss between my toes. On hot asphalt, the hop and skipover cracks, feet already toughened by bramble, dirt, the pricklyground of pine

      4 min read

    • Article

      Spell

      Apr 25, 2018

      Spell
      4 min read

    • Article

      from 36 WAYS OF WRITING A VIETNAMESE POEM

      Feb 28, 2023

      You can’t go far wrong with violence.You’ll go far, my boy.You’ll cross oceans, my boy. Start with the Fall, go back or forth,Through bombs or boats,Across all the killing fields of thought. You can’t make it upBecause it’s all yours—by blood.By righ

      4 min read

    • Article

      Two Poems

      Jul 1, 2019

      Then the blue screech the lake bellowing my name over a crowd but I never felt found never knew that sharp peal of a bellTo be greeted hello by a warm group of friends who all look like me but for long years I have been litigating HellOnly to win any

      1 min read

    • Article

      Four Poems

      May 1, 2022

      —after Gerrit van Honthorst’s “Samson and Delilah,” c. 1621 They’ve made a monster of me, marring my namefor eternity. I’m not Delilah,but Laila. I loved him. Each night, in bed, after our bodies became one body, he would succumb to sleep, resting hi

      3 min read

    • Article

      The Wild Swans at Coole

      Aug 1, 2023

      The Wild Swans at Coole
      1 min read

    • Article

      Four Poems by Eavan Boland

      May 1, 2020

      Four Poems by Eavan Boland
      3 min read

    • Article

      Four Poems

      Jan 1, 2023

      And god created the waves and we the graves beneath, bodies madeparticulate by the force of water against water, water against rock, againsttime. I descend into the deep in a kind of prayer, listen to its centuries.Make me pay, will you, make me hurt

      3 min read

    Related categories

    Reviews for The Wild Knight and Other Poems

    0 ratings

    0 ratings0 reviews

    What did you think?

    Tap to rate

    Review must be at least 10 words

      Book preview

      The Wild Knight and Other Poems - Gilbert Keith Chesterton

      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 of stem or sod,

        Hoarded as emeralds might be,

      I bowed to every bush, and trod

        Amid the live grass fearfully.

      My Lady clad herself in blue,

        Then on me, like the seer long gone,

      The likeness of a sapphire grew,

        The throne of him that sat thereon. 

      Then knew I why the Fashioner

        Splashed reckless blue on sky and sea;

      And ere ’twas good enough for her,

        He tried it on Eternity.

      Beneath the gnarled old Knowledge-tree

        Sat, like an owl, the evil sage: 

      ‘The World’s a bubble,’ solemnly

        He read, and turned a second page. 

      ‘A bubble, then, old crow,’ I cried,

        ’God keep you in your weary wit! 

      ’A bubble—­have you ever spied

        ‘The colours I have seen on it?’

      The Happy Man

      To teach the grey earth like a child,

        To bid the heavens repent,

      I only ask from Fate the gift

        Of one man well content.

      Him will I find:  though when in vain

        I search the feast and mart,

      The fading flowers of liberty,

        The painted masks of art.

      I only find him at the last,

        On one old hill where nod

      Golgotha’s ghastly trinity—­

        Three persons and one god.

      The Unpardonable Sin

      I do not cry, beloved, neither curse. 

        Silence and strength, these two at least are good. 

        He gave me sun and stars and ought He could,

      But not a woman’s love; for that is hers.

      He sealed her heart from sage and questioner—­

        Yea, with seven seals, as he has sealed the grave. 

        And if she give it to a drunken slave,

      The Day of Judgment shall not challenge her.

      Only this much:  if one, deserving well,

        Touching your thin young hands

      Enjoying the preview?
      Page 1 of 1