English poetry

Poets Biographies Poems by Themes Random Poem
The Rating of Poets The Rating of Poems

Poem by Frederick Locker-Lampson


My Firstborn


    But thou that didst appear so fair
       To fond imagination,
    Dost rival in the light of day,
       Her delicate creation!

    Wordsworth.

It shall not be Albert nor Arthur,
   Though both are respectable men,
His name shall be that of his father,
   My Benjamin shortend to Ben.

Yes, much as I wish for a corner
   In each of my relatives wills,
I will not be reckond a fawner
   That creaking of boots must be Squills.

It is clear, though his means may be narrow,
   This infant his age will adorn;
I shall send him to Oxford from Harrow
   I wonder how soon hell be born.

A spouse thus was airing his fancies
   Belowtwas a labour of love
And calmly reflecting on Nancys
   More practical labour above.

Yet while it so pleasd him to ponder,
   Elated, at ease, and alone,
That pale, patient victim up yonder
   Had budding delights of her own;

Sweet thoughts in their essence diviner
   Than dreams of ambition and pelf;
A cherub, no babe will be finer,
   Invented and nursed by herself!

One breakfasting, dining, and teaing,
   With appetite nought can appease,
And quite a young Reasoning Being
   When called on to yawn and to sneeze.

What cares that heart, trusting and tender,
   For fame or avuncular wills;
Except for the name and the gender,
   She is almost as tranquil as Squills.

That father, in reverie centrd,
   Dumfoundered, his brain in a whirl,
Heard Squillsas the creaking boots enterd,
   Announce that his Boy wasa Girl.



Frederick Locker-Lampson


Frederick Locker-Lampson's other poems:
  1. St Georges, Hanover Square
  2. The Russet Pitcher
  3. The Old Oak-Tree at Hatfield Broadoak
  4. The Cradle
  5. The Widows Mite


Poem to print Print

972 Views



Last Poems


To Russian version


@Mail.ru

English Poetry. E-mail eng-poetry.ru@yandex.ru