J. Forbes-Robertson

I'm told the Artist who aspires
To draw Forbes-Robertson requires
A Sargent's brush. Dear me! how sad!
I've lost the only one I had.

Oliver Herford

Oliver Herford was born in England on December 2, 1860. He was a British-born American writer, artist, and illustrator, often referred to as 'The American Oscar Wilde' for his sharp wit and humorous works. Herford authored and illustrated many books for children and adults, contributing to magazines such as "The Criterion", "Life", and "Punch". He died on July 5, 1935, in France.

Oliver Herford

The Outing

Oliver Herford, Simple Poetry

A Mole.

Oliver Herford, Simple Poetry

The Unicorn

Oliver Herford, Simple Poetry

The Chimpanzee.

Oliver Herford, 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.

John Drew

For Perfect Form there are but few
That can compare with Mr. Drew;
A Form most fittingly displayed
In rôles from London, tailor-made
By Messrs. Maughn, Pinero, Jones,
In quiet, gentlemanly tones.
The Nouveaux-Riches flock, day by day,
To learn from John how to display
(Without unnecessary gloom)
The manners of the drawing-room.
This possibly may be the cause
(Or one of them) why John Drew draws.

Oliver Herford

A Post-Impressionist

Peter Wilson, A.R.A.,
In his small atelier,
Studied Continental Schools,
Drew by Academic rules.
So he made his bid for fame,
But no golden answer came,
For the fashion of his day
Chanced to set the other way,
And decadent forms of Art
Drew the patrons of the mart.

Now this poor reward of merit
Rankled so in Peter's spirit,
It was more than he could bear;
So one night in mad despair
He took his canvas for the year
("Isle of Wight from Southsea Pier"),
And he hurled it from his sight,
Hurled it blindly to the night,
Saw it fall diminuendo
From the open lattice window,
Till it landed with a flop
On the dust-bin's ashen top,
Where, 'mid damp and rain and grime,
It remained till morning time.

Then when morning br...

Arthur Conan Doyle

John D. Rockefeller

Few faces interest me less
Than Rockefeller's, I confess.
'Twould vastly better suit my whim
To draw his bank account, than him.

Oliver Herford

The Reward Of Merit.

Dr. Belville was regarded as the Crichton of his age:
His tragedies were reckoned much too thoughtful for the stage;
His poems held a noble rank, although it's very true
That, being very proper, they were read by very few.
He was a famous Painter, too, and shone upon the "line,"
And even Mr. Ruskin came and worshipped at his shrine;
But, alas, the school he followed was heroically high
The kind of Art men rave about, but very seldom buy
And everybody said
"How can he be repaid
This very great this very good this very gifted man?"
But nobody could hit upon a practicable plan!

He was a great Inventor, and discovered, all alone,
A plan for making everybody's fortune but his own;
For, in business, an Inventor's little better than a fool,
And my highly gifted frie...

William Schwenck Gilbert

To His Serene Highness The Duke Of Montpensier On His Portrait Of The Lady Adelaide Forbes.

Donington Park, 1802


To catch the thought, by painting's spell,
    Howe'er remote, howe'er refined,
And o'er the kindling canvas tell
    The silent story of the mind;

O'er nature's form to glance the eye,
    And fix, by mimic light and shade,
Her morning tinges ere they fly,
    Her evening blushes, ere they fade;

Yes, these are Painting's proudest powers,
    The gift, by which her art divine
Above all others proudly towers,--
    And these, oh Prince! are richly thine.

And yet, when Friendship sees thee trace,
    In almost living truth exprest,
This bright memorial of a face
    On which her eye delights to rest;

While o'er the lovely look serene,
    The smile of peace, the bloom of youth,
The ch...

Thomas Moore

J. Pierpont Morgan

    In Rome, when Morgan came to town,
    They nailed the Colosseum down.
    A great Collector! Once his Fad
    Was Coins, but when in time he had
    Collected all the coin in sight,
    To Europe's Art his thoughts took flight.
    But let not Europe palpitate
For fear of an Art Syndicate.
    There are more Rembrandts, strange to say,
    Than ever were in Rembrandt's day;
    And statues "planted" in the sand
    Will always equal the demand.

Oliver Herford