A Parable

The cheese-mites asked how the cheese got there,
And warmly debated the matter;
The Orthodox said that it came from the air,
And the Heretics said from the platter.
They argued it long and they argued it strong,
And I hear they are arguing now;
But of all the choice spirits who lived in the cheese,
Not one of them thought of a cow,

Arthur Conan Doyle

Sir Arthur Conan Doyle was a British writer and physician, famous for creating the detective Sherlock Holmes. He was born on May 22, 1859, in Edinburgh, Scotland, and died on July 7, 1930. Although best known for his Holmes series, Doyle was a versatile author who wrote in various genres, including science fiction, historical novels, and plays. Doyle was also involved in politics and was an advocate for spiritualism. His works greatly influenced different literary genres, making him one of the most significant literary figures of his time.

Arthur Conan Doyle

By The North Sea

Arthur Conan Doyle, Simple Poetry

The Dying Whip

Arthur Conan Doyle, Simple Poetry

With The Chiddingfolds

Arthur Conan Doyle, Simple Poetry

Man's Limitation

Arthur Conan Doyle, Simple Poetry

English

Suggested Poems

Explore a curated selection of verses that share themes, styles, and emotional resonance with the poem you've just read.

Oxford Cheese Ode.

        The ancient poets ne'er did dream
        That Canada was land of cream,
        They ne'er imagined it could flow
        In this cold land of ice and snow,
        Where everything did solid freeze,
        They ne'er hoped or looked for cheese.

        A few years since our Oxford farms
        Were nearly robbed of all their charms,
        O'er cropped the weary land grew poor
        And nearly barren as a moor,
        But now their owners live at ease
        Rejoicing in their crop of cheese.

        And since they justly treat the soil,
        Are well rewarded for their toil,
        The land enriched by goodly cows
        Yields plenty now to fill their mows,
        Both wheat and barley, oats and peas,
        But still...

James McIntyre

Apple-Pie And Cheese

Full many a sinful notion
Conceived of foreign powers
Has come across the ocean
To harm this land of ours;
And heresies called fashions
Have modesty effaced,
And baleful, morbid passions
Corrupt our native taste.
O tempora! O mores!
What profanations these
That seek to dim the glories
Of apple-pie and cheese!

I'm glad my education
Enables me to stand
Against the vile temptation
Held out on every hand;
Eschewing all the tittles
With vanity replete,
I'm loyal to the victuals
Our grandsires used to eat!
I'm glad I've got three willing boys
To hang around and tease
Their mother for the filling joys
Of apple-pie and cheese!

Your flavored creams and ices
And your dainty angel-food
Are mighty fine devices<...

Eugene Field

The Town Mouse And The Country Mouse.

        Æsop, Babrius, Horace, Prior, and Pope.


        Our friend Dan Prior had, you know,
        A tale exactly à propos;
        Name a town life - and, in a trice,
        He had a story of two mice.

        Once on a time (so runs the fable)
        A country mouse - right hospitable -
        Received a town mouse at his board,
        Just as a farmer might a lord.
        A frugal mouse upon the whole,
        Yet loved his friend, and had a soul;
        Know what was handsome, and would do 't.
        On just occasion coute qui coute.
        He brought him bacon nothing lean,
        Pudding that might have pleased a Dean;
        Cheese, such as men of Suffolk make,
        But wished it Stilton for his sake....

John Gay

The Sycophantic Fox And The Gullible Raven

A raven sat upon a tree,
And not a word he spoke, for
His beak contained a piece of Brie,
Or, maybe, it was Roquefort:
We'll make it any kind you please--
At all events, it was a cheese.

Beneath the tree's umbrageous limb
A hungry fox sat smiling;
He saw the raven watching him,
And spoke in words beguiling.
"J'admire," said he, "ton beau plumage."
(The which was simply persiflage.)

Two things there are, no doubt you know,
To which a fox is used:
A rooster that is bound to crow,
A crow that's bound to roost,
And whichsoever he espies
He tells the most unblushing lies.

"Sweet fowl," he said, "I understand
You're more than merely natty,
I hear you sing to beat the band
And Adelina Patti.
Pray render wi...

Guy Wetmore Carryl

Nux Postcoenatica

I was sitting with my microscope, upon my parlor rug,
With a very heavy quarto and a very lively bug;
The true bug had been organized with only two antennae,
But the humbug in the copperplate would have them twice as many.

And I thought, like Dr. Faustus, of the emptiness of art,
How we take a fragment for the whole, and call the whole a part,
When I heard a heavy footstep that was loud enough for two,
And a man of forty entered, exclaiming, "How d' ye do?"

He was not a ghost, my visitor, but solid flesh and bone;
He wore a Palo Alto hat, his weight was twenty stone;
(It's odd how hats expand their brims as riper years invade,
As if when life had reached its noon it wanted them for shade!)

I lost my focus, - dropped my book, - the bug, who was a flea,
At on...

Oliver Wendell Holmes

The Hog, The Goat, And The Sheep.

^[1]

A goat, a sheep, and porker fat,
All to the market rode together.
Their own amusement was not that
Which caused their journey thither.
Their coachman did not mean to 'set them down'
To see the shows and wonders of the town.
The porker cried, in piercing squeals,
As if with butchers at his heels.
The other beasts, of milder mood,
The cause by no means understood.
They saw no harm, and wonder'd why
At such a rate the hog should cry.
'Hush there, old piggy!' said the man,
'And keep as quiet as you can.
What wrong have you to squeal about,
And raise this dev'lish, deaf'ning shout?
These stiller persons at your side
Have manners much more dignified.
Pray, have you heard
A single word
Come from that gentleman in wool?

Jean de La Fontaine