Public Domain Poetry And Stories - A Garden Party in the Temple by James Williams
Public domain poetry and public domain stories from the literary greats of yesteryear.
Custom Search
Main Menu

Home

Latest Poetry

Latest Authors

Authors Surname

Authors First Name

Poetry Title

Poetry First Lines

Latest Stories

Stories Title

Top Authors

Top Poetry


Top Stories Etc.

Search

Contact Us

Useless Information!!

Store



Top Sites, Click here to vote for our site

Sponsored Links

Read, Rate, Comment on or Submit your poetry

A Garden Party in the Temple

    By James Williams



        On hospitable thoughts intent
        To me the Inner Temple sent
                    An invitation,
        A garden party 'twas to be,
        And I accepted readily
                    And with elation;
        Good reason too, but oft the seeds
        Of reason flower in senseless deeds.

        I stood as savage as a bear,
        For not a human being there
                    Knew I from Adam
        I heard around in various tones,
        "So glad to see you, Mr. Jones;"
                    "Good morning, Madam."
        It seemed so painfully absurd
        To stand and never speak a word.

        I brought my doom upon myself,
        And there I was upon the shelf
                    In melancholy.
        Why, say you, did I go at all?
        I once met Chloris at a ball,
                    And in my folly
        I went and suffered all this pain
        In hopes to see her once again.

        Of strawberries a pound at least
        I ate, and made myself a beast
                    With tea and sherry;
        And raspberries I ate and trembled,
        Until I felt that I resembled
                    Myself a berry,
        But 'twas the berry that at school
        We used to call a gooseberry fool.

        The I. C. R. V.[F] band droned on,
        While guests had come and guests had gone
                    Since my arrival;
        My brow grew gloomier with despair,
        And on it sat the guilty air
                    Of a survival
        Of some remorse for ancient crimes
        Wrought in the pre-historic times.

        My seventh cup of tea was done,
        My seventh glass of wine begun,
                    Then of her coming
        I was aware, nor shall forget
        How she and that brown sherry set
                    My brains a-humming;
        Well should I be rewarded soon
        For all the weary afternoon.

        Her eyes looked vaguely into mine
        Without as much as half a sign
                    Of recognition.
        My heart, my heart! the blow was sore,
        But you have often been before
                    In this condition;
        As said the bard of old, those eyes
        Are not my only Paradise.[G]




Extra Info:
[F] Inns of Court Rifle Volunteers.

[G] Dante, Par. xviii. 21.


Printable Page

Add Your Thoughts on this poem.



This page viewed 276 times.
Sponsored Links


Your Shops - Affordable Ecommerce stores and cheaper goods for customers - No listing fees!



Our Sites