Righteous Anger

    The lanky hank of a she in the inn over there
    Nearly killed me for asking the loan of a glass of beer:
    May the devil grip the whey-faced slut by the hair,
    And beat bad manners out of her skin for a year.

    That parboiled imp, with the hardest jaw you will see
    On virtue's path, and a voice that would rasp the dead,
    Came roaring and raging the minute she looked at me,
    And threw me out of the house on the back of my head!

    If I asked her master he'd give me a cask a day;
    But she, with the beer at hand, not a gill would arrange!
    May she marry a ghost and bear him a kitten, and may
    The High King of Glory permit her to get the mange.

James Stephens

James Stephens was an Irish novelist and poet, whose literary output includes many retellings of Irish myths and fairy tales. He was born on February 9, 1880, and passed away on December 26, 1950. Notable works include 'The Crock of Gold' and 'The Demi-Gods'. Stephens also wrote several well-regarded collections of poetry, including 'The Hill of Vision' and 'Insurrections'. His work is characterized by a blend of myth, fantasy, and modernism, capturing the spirit and culture of Ireland.

James Stephens

College Green (The Rocky Road To Dublin)

James Stephens, Simple Poetry

In The Cool Of The Evening

James Stephens, Simple Poetry

At The Fair (The Rocky Road To Dublin)

James Stephens, Simple Poetry

The White Window (The Adventures Of Seumas Beg)

James Stephens, 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.

A Ramble In St. James's Park

Much wine had passed, with grave discourse
Of who f*cks who, and who does worse
(Such as you usually do hear
From those that diet at the Bear),
When I, who still take care to see
Drunkenness relieved by lechery,
Went out into St. James's Park
To cool my head and fire my heart.
But though St. James has th' honor on 't,
'Tis consecrate to prick and c*nt.
There, by a most incestuous birth,
Strange woods spring from the teeming earth;
For they relate how heretofore,
When ancient Pict began to whore,
Deluded of his assignation
(Jilting, it seems, was then in fashion),
Poor pensive lover, in this place
Would frig upon his mother's face;
Whence rows of mandrakes tall did rise
Whose lewd tops f*cked the very skies.
Each imitative branch does twine<...

John Wilmot

The Dream of Margaret

It fell upon a summer night
The village folk were soundly sleeping,
Unconscious of the glamour white
In which the moon all things was steeping;
One window only showed a light;
Behind it, silent vigil keeping,
Sat Margaret, as one in trance,
The dark-eyed daughter of the Manse.

A flood of strange, sweet thoughts was surging
Her passionate heart and brain within.
At last, some secret impulse urging,
She laid aside her garment thin,
And from its snowy folds emerging,
Like Lamia from the serpent-skin,
She stood before her mirror bright
Naked, and lovely as the night.

Her dark hair oer her shoulders flowing
Might well have been a silken pall
Oer Galateas image glowing
To life and love: she was withal
The lamplight oer her radianc...

Victor James Daley

Hans Carvel

Hans Carvel, impotent and old,
Married a lass of London mould.
Handsome? Enough; extremely gay;
Loved music, company, and play:
High flights she had, and wit at will,
And so her tongue lay seldom still;
For in all visits who but she
To argue or to repartee?

She made it plain that human passion
Was order'd by predestination;
That if weak women went astray,
Their stars were more in fault than they.
Whole tragedies she had by heart;
Enter'd into Roxana's part;
To triumph in her rival's blood
The action certainly was good.
How like a vine young Ammon curl'd!
Oh that dear conqueror of the world!
She pity'd Betterton in age
That ridiculed the godlike rage.

She, first of all the town, was told
Where newest India things were sold;<...

Matthew Prior

The Devil And The Monk

Once Satan and a monk went on a "drunk,"
And Satan struck a bargain with the monk,
Whereby the Devil's crew was much increased
By penceless poor and now and then a priest
Who, lacking cunning or good common sense,
Got caught in flagrante and out of pence.
Then in high glee the Devil filled a cup
And drank a brimming bumper to the pope:
Then "Here's to you," he said, "sober or drunk,
In cowl or corsets, every monk's a punk.
Whate'er they preach unto the common breed,
At heart the priests and I are well agreed.
Justice is blind we see, and deaf and old,
But in her scales can hear the clink of gold.
The convent is a harem in disguise,
And virtue is a fig-leaf for the wise
To hide the naked truth of lust and lecheries.

"And still the toilers feed...

Hanford Lennox Gordon

The Sacrilege - A Ballad-Tragedy

(Circa 182-)



PART I

"I have a Love I love too well
Where Dunkery frowns on Exon Moor;
I have a Love I love too well,
    To whom, ere she was mine,
'Such is my love for you,' I said,
'That you shall have to hood your head
A silken kerchief crimson-red,
    Wove finest of the fine.'

"And since this Love, for one mad moon,
On Exon Wild by Dunkery Tor,
Since this my Love for one mad moon
    Did clasp me as her king,
I snatched a silk-piece red and rare
From off a stall at Priddy Fair,
For handkerchief to hood her hair
    When we went gallanting.

"Full soon the four weeks neared their end
Where Dunkery frowns on Exon Moor;
And when the four weeks neared their end,
    And their swift sweets outwore,

Thomas Hardy

The Devil Of Pope-Fig Island

BY master Francis clearly 'tis expressed:
The folks of Papimania are blessed;
True sleep for them alone it seems was made
With US the copy only has been laid;
And by Saint John, if Heav'n my life will spare,
I'll see this place where sleeping 's free from care.
E'en better still I find, for naught they do:
'Tis that employment always I pursue.
Just add thereto a little honest love,
And I shall be as easy as a glove.

ON t'other hand an island may be seen,
Where all are hated, cursed, and full of spleen.
We know them by the thinness of their face
Long sleep is quite excluded from their race.

SHOULD you, good reader, any person meet,
With rosy, smiling looks, and cheeks replete,
The form not clumsy, you may safely say,
A Papimanian doubtless I su...

Jean de La Fontaine