Penguin's Poems for Life
Editor - Laura Barber
Penguin Classics
Paperback
: 25 Sep 2008
£9.99
Synopsis
Taking its inspiration from Shakespeare’s idea of the “seven ages” of a human life, Penguin's Poems for Life bring together the best-loved poems in English to inspire, comfort and delight readers for a lifetime. Beginning with babies, Penguin's Poems for Life is divided into sections on childhood, growing up, making a living and making love, family life, getting older, and approaching death, ending with poems of mourning and commemoration.
Ranging from Chaucer to Carol Ann Duffy, via Shakespeare, Keats, and Lemn Sissay, Penguin's Poems for Life offers something for each of those moments in life – whether falling in love, finding your first grey hair or saying your final goodbyes – when only a poem will do.
Penguin's Poems for Life is also available as an eBook.
Interview
The Penguin Classics Poetry Doctor
Sometimes, when your own words fail you, a poem can describe how you’re feeling or express what you want to say...
Laura Barber (Poems for Life Publisher and our very own Poetry Doctor) has the remedy. Read Laura's poetry prescriptions below...
Problem:
Dear Poetry Doctor... I have fallen in love quite suddenly and unexpectedly with another man or possibly my idea of him. I would not dream of acting on it because the relationship I am in now is too precious to be frittered away on a fancy. But I find myself immersed in a fog of nostalgia for the frisson of excitement that being swept away by a new romance brings. Do you know of a poem to accompany me on this solitary journey of a thousand emotions. Many thanks.
P.S. My mother-in-law is getting me Penguin's Poems for Life for my birthday, I can hardly wait.
Prescription:
For a poet who understands the exquisite agony of an undeclared (and impossible) attraction, take a look at Richard Barnfield’s sonnet sequence addressed to a young man. For a reminder of the exhilaration of the first days of your current relationship, how about Walt Whitman’s We Two Boys Together Clinging. And for a poem that tenderly captures the lasting attractions of a desire that has become familiar, but still has its moments of surprising potency, I really love The Hug by Thom Gunn, which you can read in Poems for Life when you finally get to open it.
Happy Birthday!
The Poetry Doctor
WE TWO BOYS TOGETHER CLINGING
Walt Whitman
We two boys together clinging
One the other never leaving,
Up and down the roads going — North and South excursions making,
Power enjoying — elbows stretching — fingers clutching,
Arm’d and fearless — eating, drinking, sleeping, loving,
No law less than ourselves owning — sailing, soldiering, thieving, threatening,
Misers, menials, priests alarming — air breathing, water drinking, on the turf or the sea-beach dancing,
Cities wrenching, ease scorning, statutes mocking, feebleness chasing,
Fulfilling our foray.
Problem:
Dear Poetry Doctor... I'm not sure, but I think I might drink too much.
Prescription:
Is Ogden Nash’s Reflection on Ice-Breaking your motto? When you look at the carousing scenes in Byron’s Don Juan, does it all seem strangely familiar? Could Coleridge’s vision in Kubla Khan of the wild-eyed eccentric who has “drunk the milk of paradise” bring back memories of Friday night? If so, then you’re probably just nudging the desirable limit. For a poem whose mood matches the muffled daze of a hangover (and the insistent bark of the hair-of-the-dog remedy), take a look at Keats’s Ode to a Nightingale, and to get you in the mood for daintier indulgences, how about Percy Bysshe Shelley’s promise of non-alcoholic fun:
Though we eat little flesh and drink no wine,
Yet let’s be merry; we'll have tea and toast;
Custards for supper, and an endless host
Of syllabubs and jellies and mince-pies,
And other such lady-like luxuries.
From: ODE TO A NIGHTINGALE
John Keats
O, for a draught of vintage! that hath been
Cool'd a long age in the deep-delved earth,
Tasting of Flora and the country green,
Dance, and Provencal song, and sunburnt mirth!
O for a beaker full of the warm South,
Full of the true, the blushful Hippocrene,
With beaded bubbles winking at the brim,
And purple-stained mouth;
That I might drink, and leave the world unseen,
And with thee fade away into the forest dim:
The Poetry Doctor
Problem:
Dear Poetry Doctor... I was wondering if you could find me a poem that would be suitable for reading at the funeral of a gay friend. (Besides Auden's Stop all the clocks...). I would be most grateful if you could help me out on this one.
Prescription:
I am sorry for your loss. Perhaps you could look at Tennyson's In Memoriam A. H. H., a long sequence of poems he wrote in response to the death of his friend Arthur, charting the long journey of mourning from initial disbelief, through despair, to the later accommodation to the absence. Depending on what would be most fitting, you might consider number V, number VII, or number LVII. Or if not Tennyson, how about this short poem by Hartley Coleridge called Sonnet to a Friend: A more modern poem, and perhaps a more inclusive one that speaks to a sense of collective loss, would be David Constantine's We say the dead depart which you can find in his Collected Poems.
I hope one of these might be suitable and wish you well with the reading.
The Poetry Doctor
SONNET TO A FRIEND
By Hartley Coleridge
The need of human love we little noted:
Our love was nature; and the peace that floated
On the white mist, and dwelt upon the hills,
To sweet accord subdued our wayward wills:
One soul was ours, one mind, one heart devoted,
That, wisely doting, ask’d not why it doted,
And ours the unknown joy, which knowing kills.
But now I find how dear thou wert to me;
That man is more than half of nature’s treasure,
Of that fair beauty which no eye can see,
Of that sweet music which no ear can measure;
And now the streams may sing for others’ pleasure,
The hills sleep on in their eternity.
Problem:
Dear Poetry Doctor... It’ll be my first year’s anniversary with my girlfriend this week and we’re going on holiday together for the first time shortly after. I’m madly in love with Emma and would like to express something in verse that portrays how happy I am with her and how excited I am about the up and coming events.
Maybe within your selected poem or separately, you could ‘prescribe’ maybe two lines that I could put in the card that’ll accompany the flowers I’m sending her?
Prescription:
How wonderful to be prescribing for heart palpitations of the gleeful kind. Some celebratory love poems you might look at are She was a Phantom of Delight by William Wordsworth, which describes the intriguing process of getting to know someone (while still being bewitched by their otherness); or E. E. Cumming's poem Somewhere I Have Never Travelled which is garlanded with references to flowers which might be pluckable individually for your card, especially the last two lines of the second verse, or the last two lines of the poem; or - to get you in lazy holiday mood - how about The Sun Rising by John Donne?
Happy anniversary!
The Poetry Doctor
SHE WAS A PHANTOM OF DELIGHT
By William Wordsworth
She was a phantom of delight
When first she gleamed upon my sight;
A lovely Apparition, sent
To be a moment's ornament;
Her eyes as stars of Twilight fair;
Like Twilight's, too, her dusky hair;
But all things else about her drawn
From May-time and the cheerful Dawn;
A dancing Shape, an Image gay,
To haunt, to startle, and way-lay.
I saw her upon a nearer view,
A Spirit, yet a Woman too!
Her household motions light and free,
And steps of virgin liberty;
A countenance in which did meet
Sweet records, promises as sweet;
A Creature not too bright or good
For human nature's daily food;
For transient sorrows, simple wiles,
Praise, blame, love, kisses, tears and smiles.
And now I see with eye serene
The very pulse of the machine;
A Being breathing thoughtful breath,
A Traveller between life and death;
The reason firm, the temperate will,
Endurance, foresight, strength, and skill;
A perfect Woman, nobly planned,
To warm, to comfort, and command;
And yet a Spirit still, and bright,
With something of angelic light.
Problem:
Dear Poetry Doctor... I am afraid I have a sadder request for you: my much beloved granny passed away this Monday morning and I am struggling to put what I feel into words and struggling to accept what has happened. Is there any poem you know that would offer solace?
Prescription:
I am sorry for your sadness. Emily Dickinson's After great pain, a formal feeling comes has always seemed to me to capture just the icy shock that you are currently experiencing, as well as looking forward to a time when you will feel it, and the loss, a little less keenly. Another couple of poems that might ease the immediate pain by reminding you that your grandmother would not wish you to be unhappy are Matthew Arnold's Requiescat and the anonymous poem Do not stand at my grave and weep.
With sympathy,
The Poetry Doctor
Do not stand at my grave and weep;
I am not there. I do not sleep.
I am a thousand winds that blow.
I am the diamond glints on snow.
I am the sunlight on ripened grain.
I am the gentle autumn rain.
When you awaken in the morning's hush
I am the swift uplifting rush
Of quiet birds in circled flight.
I am the soft stars that shine at night.
Do not stand at my grave and cry;
I am not there. I did not die.
Problem:
Dear Poetry Doctor... I have just bought my first home - is there a poem to mark this significant occasion?
Prescription:
There is a joyful poem by Robert Louis Stevenson called The House Beautiful that perfectly captures the excitement of a empty place coming to life, even though the "house" he's talking about is also the earth. And, on a smaller scale, how about William Cowper's poem, The Snail.
The Poetry Doctor
THE SNAIL
By William Cowper
TO grass, or leaf, or fruit, or wall,
The snail sticks close, nor fears to fall,
As if he grew there, house and all
Together.
Within that house secure he hides,
When danger imminent betides
Of storm, or other harm besides
Of weather.
Give but his horns the slightest touch,
His self-collecting power is such,
He shrinks into his house, with much
Displeasure.
Where'er he dwells, he dwells alone,
Except himself has chattels none,
Well satisfied to be his own
Whole treasure.
Thus, hermit-like, his life he leads,
Nor partner of his banquet needs,
And if he meets one, only feeds
The faster.
Who seeks him must be worse than blind,
(He and his house are so combin'd)
If, finding it, he fails to find
Its master.
Problem:
Dear Poetry Doctor... I am going through a hard time at the moment. My husband is recovering from a double hip replacement (both sides) and my mother is in hospital suffering from dementia. I try and visit her every day, but she is going down fast. She is refusing to eat and has lost over 3 stone in 3 months. She is quite confused, but knows who I am. Life seems very hard and I begin to wonder what it is all about!
My grown up children have their problems too at work – it seems like there is no let up to the stresses and strains of life. My husband has been poorly for years… I guess I am just a bit worn down. Hope you can find a helpful poem – I love poetry.
Prescription:
I am sorry to hear that you're having such a difficult time at the moment. Christina Rossetti's poetry suggests that she knew exactly those feelings of exhaustion and despondency you describe, but there are a couple of her poems that may also give you comfort and continued courage. Have a look at There is a budding morrow in midnight and also De Profundis (meaning, from the depths).
The Poetry Doctor
DE PROFUNDIS
By Christina Rossetti
Oh why is heaven built so far,
Oh why is earth set so remote?
I cannot reach the nearest star
That hangs afloat.
I would not care to reach the moon,
One round monotonous of change;
Yet even she repeats her tune
Beyond my range.
I never watch the scatter'd fire
Of stars, or sun's far-trailing train,
But all my heart is one desire,
And all in vain:
For I am bound with fleshly bands,
Joy, beauty, lie beyond my scope;
I strain my heart, I stretch my hands,
And catch at hope.
Response:
Thank you so much for this poem. I do have a book of Christina Rossetti’s poems – I think one of my sons had to do her poems for GCSE! I will look the other poem up and read some of the others too.
I think you are doing a great service!
Problem:
Poetry doctor! I have a pain that simple will not go, no matter what I try. Autumn colours, the sunlight low over the fields and warm nights before the fire are heartening, but the swathes of leaves at my feet only remind me of the transience of life. I am, alas, nearing my mid thirties and am feeling the years.
Can you prescribe me a remedy? Can you lighten this trouble with verse?
Prescription:
Such symptoms are rare in one so young, but I think that they are reversible. John Clare's poem Morning offers a potent antidote to these darkling nights, and Edmund Spenser's sonnet 72 from Amoretti might enable you to enjoy the autumnal pleasures of leaf-kicking and flickering flames.
The Poetry Doctor
Edmund Spenser
Oft when my spirit doth spread her bolder wings,
In mind to mount up to the purest sky:
It down is weighed with thought of earthly things:
And clogged with burden of mortality,
Where when that sovereign beauty it doth spy,
Resembling heaven's glory in her light:
Drawn with sweet pleasure's bait, it back doth fly,
And unto heaven forgets her former flight.
There my frail fancy fed with full delight,
Doth bathe in bliss and mantleth most at ease:
Ne thinks of other heaven, but how it might
Her heart's desire with most contentment please,
Heart need not with none other happiness,
But here on earth to have such heaven's bliss.
Problem:
Dear Poetry Doctor... I have been asked to do a reading at my younger brother's wedding. I've been looking at all the online sources and their suggestions seem a bit trite or quite gooey love poems about staring into each other eyes etc etc etc. I'm looking for something a bit different, appropriate to them and hopefully entertaining!
They both love travelling and exploring. My brother is a bit into extreme sports (jumping out of planes, mountain climbing, rafting, cycling the tour de France etc). His partner is great - very understanding, funny, good company and loves a challenge herself (which is clearly why she sticks with my little brother!).
We all love them both dearly and it's clear they adore each other and are a good match. Can you help me with a suggestion?
Prescription:
How about Alice Oswald's poem, A Wedding, which you will find in her collection The Thing in the Gap-Stone Stile. It contains images of both sailing and tightrope walking, so should suit your high-octane brother and your well-balanced sister-in-law perfectly.
The Poetry Doctor
Problem:
Dear Poetry Doctor... You have suggested a poem for the best man at a wedding which would be very welcome please. However what would be really useful for me would be a poem for the Father of the Bride to use. My daughter gets married in May next year.
Prescription:
My recommendation for you is not specifically tailored for the Father of the Bride, but Carmen Bugan’s A House of Stone is a poem that reads like both a blessing and a wish and you will find it in Poems for Life. It reminds me of the moment in a fairy tale when a good fairy turns up and sprinkles about the kind of magic that guarantees protection and a happy ending.
The Poetry Doctor
Problem:
Dear Poetry Doctor... My faith in the omniscience and omnipresence of the Creator is in need of some bolstering; a malady for which I am sure you have many a soothing remedy. I look forward to your choice of medicine.
Prescription:
I am sorry for your spiritual suffering - the symptoms are distressing, but they also confirm that you are human. And you are in good poetic company, as some of the finest religious writers in our language have also had their moments of raw and agonising doubt -look, for example, at R. S. Thomas and such poems as In a Country Church, Waiting and Via Negativa. For glimmers of the divine, dose yourself with Thomas Hardy's The Darkling Thrush, and for a poem that seems to me to exemplify the stumbling, awkward journey towards understanding, the need for patience and faith that something (if not all!) will be revealed, then how about Edwin Morgan's Message Clear which you will find on the very last page of Poems for Life.
I hope these help.
The Poetry Doctor
THE DARKLING THRUSH
By Thomas Hardy
I leant upon a coppice gate
When Frost was spectre-gray,
And Winter's dregs made desolate
The weakening eye of day.
The tangled bine-stems scored the sky
Like strings of broken lyres,
And all mankind that haunted nigh
Had sought their household fires.
The land's sharp features seemed to be
The Century's corpse outleant,
His crypt the cloudy canopy,
The wind his death-lament.
The ancient pulse of germ and birth
Was shrunken hard and dry,
And every spirit upon earth
Seemed fervourless as I.
At once a voice arose among
The bleak twigs overhead
In a full-hearted evensong
Of joy illimited;
An aged thrush, frail, gaunt, and small,
In blast-beruffled plume,
Had chosen thus to fling his soul
Upon the growing gloom.
So little cause for carolings
Of such ecstatic sound
Was written on terrestrial things
Afar or nigh around,
That I could think there trembled through
His happy good-night air
Some blessed Hope, whereof he knew
And I was unaware.
Problem:
Dear Poetry Doctor... I want to learn the nuances of writing good poetry. Please help me.
Prescription:
There's nothing for it but following the example of Ted Hughes and immersing yourself in Shakespeare - I prescribe a sonnet a day at breakfast. And all the while practise, practise, practise.
The Poetry Doctor
SONNET 130: MY MISTRESS' EYES ARE NOTHING LIKE THE SUN
By William Shakespeare
My mistress' eyes are nothing like the sun;
Coral is far more red than her lips' red;
If snow be white, why then her breasts are dun;
If hairs be wires, black wires grow on her head.
I have seen roses damask'd, red and white,
But no such roses see I in her cheeks;
And in some perfumes is there more delight
Than in the breath that from my mistress reeks.
I love to hear her speak, yet well I know
That music hath a far more pleasing sound;
I grant I never saw a goddess go;
My mistress, when she walks, treads on the ground:
And yet, by heaven, I think my love as rare
As any she belied with false compare.
Problem:
Dear Poetry Doctor... Please could you recommend a Christmas poem to be read out at a Book Club?
Prescription:
A few ideas here:
In the Bleak Midwinter by Christina Rossetti
'Twas the night before Christmas' (also known as A Visit from St Nicholas) by Clement Clark Moore
Winter Poem by Laurie Lee
The Burning Babe by Robert Southwell
Some of them may already be familiar - the song version of Rossetti's poem regularly tops the list of the nation's most popular carols and 'Twas the night before Christmas' is a lovely poem to read with festively-excited children - but reading a poem aloud and then talking about it sometimes gives you the chance to really take notice of the words as though you're seeing them for the first time.
Happy Christmas!
The Poetry Doctor
THE BURNING BABE
By Robert Southwell
As I in hoary winter's night stood shivering in the snow,
Surprised I was with sudden heat which made my heart to glow ;
And lifting up a fearful eye to view what fire was near,
A pretty babe all burning bright did in the air appear ;
Who, scorchëd with excessive heat, such floods of tears did shed
As though his floods should quench his flames which with his tears were fed.
Alas, quoth he, but newly born in fiery heats I fry,
Yet none approach to warm their hearts or feel my fire but I !
My faultless breast the furnace is, the fuel wounding thorns,
Love is the fire, and sighs the smoke, the ashes shame and scorns ;
The fuel justice layeth on, and mercy blows the coals,
The metal in this furnace wrought are men's defilëd souls,
For which, as now on fire I am to work them to their good,
So will I melt into a bath to wash them in my blood.
With this he vanished out of sight and swiftly shrunk away,
And straight I callëd unto mind that it was Christmas day.
Problem:
Dear Poetry Doctor... Is there any poem which deals with loneliness as a result of betrayal by those I thought had loved me? All the friends in the world don't seem to compensate for the fact that I feel I was let down by two people I thought "should" have been there for me whatever... And can I find love again now that I'm in my late 40s?
Prescription:
Thomas Wyatt's They Flee From Me That Some Time Did Me Seek and John Clare's I Am both speak of loneliness, and that bone-cold feeling of betrayal, but if I had to choose one poem that might bring a little light to the darkness, then I would recommend a dose of Grace Ingoldby's Morning Be Salve To You - to be taken daily, at bedtime, and again in the morning as required. This is a poem I heard for the first time only last week, and was immediately taken with. You can read it online here.
As for finding love in your 40s, then look no further than Edwin Muir's The Confirmation (which you can read in Poems for Life) - a sonnet about recognising The One and knowing that he / she was absolutely worth waiting for.
I hope everything looks brighter to you very soon.
The Poetry Doctor
THEY FLEE FROM ME THAT SOMETIME DID ME SEEK
By Sir Thomas Wyatt
They flee from me that sometime did me seek,
With naked foot stalking in my chamber.
I have seen them gentle, tame, and meek
That are now wild and do not remember
That sometime they put themselves in danger
To take bread at my hand; and now they range
Busily seeking with a continual change.
Thanked be fortune, it hath been otherwise
Twenty times better; but once in special,
In thin array after a pleasant guise,
When her loose gown did from her shoulders did fall,
And she me caught in her arms long and small,
Therewithall sweetly did me kiss,
And softly said, "Dear heart, how like you this?"
It was no dream, I lay broad waking.
But all is turned thorough my gentleness,
Into a strange fashion of forsaking;
And I have leave to go of her goodness,
And she also to use newfangleness.
But since that I so kindly am served,
I would fain know what she hath deserved.
Response:
Thank you so much for taking the time to "prescribe"! I knew the first two poems, and agree they are most apt (I Am has always been a favourite of mine...) I love both the Ingoldby and Muir ones, which were new to me. Probably, as the old cliche says, time is the best (if not ONLY) healer, and one ends up wishing one's time away just to be through the slough of despond. I can also identify with the George Herbert one about Love bidding him to join her, but him protesting that he can't - that's how I feel now: resistant against Love in case I get hurt/betrayed again. Bless you & Penguin for coming up with the Poetry Doctor concept!
Problem:
Dear Poetry Doctor... My 10 year old son has to recite a poem aloud in school assembly and despite our trawl through gigantic Oxford Book of English Verse and various childrens poetry books we couldn't find anything that met his criteria - funny, cheeky, not babyish and easy to remember and about being a boy aged 10. Can you suggest anything please?
Prescription:
I'm not sure if I know of any poems specifically about being a ten year old boy (maybe he needs to write one of his own!), but one that might match all your other criteria is William Carlos William's This Is Just to Say, which is a delicious bite-size poem about gobbling up plums. If your son would find it easier to remember one with rhymes, then how about Lewis Carroll's Rules and Regulations - one of my favourites and particularly good for reading in assembly - which you will find in Poems for Life. Or, perhaps Stevie Smith's Advice to Young Children. And, if he gets a taste for funny poems, do look at Ogden Nash, Edward Lear (who has some wonderful limericks) and Michael Rosen.
I hope the reading goes well.
The Poetry Doctor
RULES AND REGULATIONS
By Lewis Carroll
A short direction
To avoid dejection,
By variations
In occupations,
And prolongation
Of relaxation,
And combinations
Of recreations,
And disputation
On the state of the nation
In adaptation
To your station,
By invitations
To friends and relations,
By evitation
Of amputation,
By permutation
In conversation ,
And deep reflection
You'll avoid dejection.
Learn well your grammar,
And never stammer,
Write well and neatly,
And sing most sweetly,
Be enterprising ,
Love early rising,
Go walk of six miles,
Have ready quick smiles,
With lightsome laughter,
Soft flowing after.
Drink tea, not coffee;
Never eat toffy.
Eat bread with butter.
Once more, don't stutter.
Don't waste your money,
Abstain from honey.
Shut doors behind you,
(Don't slam them, mind you.)
Drink beer, not porter.
Don't enter the water
Till to swim you are able.
Sit close to the table.
Take care of a candle.
Shut a door by the handle,
Don't push with your shoulder
Until you are older.
Lose not a button.
Refuse cold mutton.
Starve your canaries.
Believe in fairies.
If you are able,
Don't have a stable
With any mangers.
Be rude to strangers.
Moral: Behave.
Problem:
Dear Poetry Doctor... I have a friend who is far away. I phoned her last night, but failed, as she was sleeping. I returned sad. Please prescribe me with a poem.
Prescription:
I have just the thing! Carol Ann Duffy's poem Text (in her newest collection, Rapture) perfectly captures the agony of long-distance communication. Robert Browning's Meeting at Night tells of a challenging rendez vous successfully achieved and should inspire you try calling again (but earlier this time!). And, if you need a instant pick-me-up between future phone calls, keep a copy of Adrian Mitchell's Celia, Celia in your pocket at all times.
The Poetry Doctor
MEETING AT NIGHT
By Robert Browning
I.
The grey sea and the long black land;
And the yellow half-moon large and low;
And the startled little waves that leap
In fiery ringlets from their sleep,
As I gain the cove with pushing prow,
And quench its speed i' the slushy sand.
II.
Then a mile of warm sea-scented beach;
Three fields to cross till a farm appears;
A tap at the pane, the quick sharp scratch
And blue spurt of a lighted match,
And a voice less loud, thro' its joys and fears,
Than the two hearts beating each to each!
Problem:
I have been asked to do a reading for the Lesbian Gay and Bisexual Christmas Carol Service in Cardiff during December. I'm not a religious person but have been asked to choose my own reading. It doesn’t have to be religious but something that could be considered spiritual. I'd personally like something slightly inspirational, clever and thought provoking.
Prescription:
An excellent bit of self-medication! If you like U. A. Fanthorpe, then how about What the Donkey Saw, which I think has slightly more tinsel to it than BC: AD. The Carol of Three by Clive Sansom is a good one for reading aloud. Or - though this poem makes no explicit mention of Christmas - how about the anonymous 17th century poem below: it is suitably rousing for the season and makes me think of the wonder, exhilaration, and sheer strangeness and confusion that the shepherds (or indeed the donkeys) might have felt that night:
I saw a Peacock, with a fiery tail,
I saw a Blazing Comet, drop down hail,
I saw a Cloud, with Ivy circled round,
I saw a sturdy Oak, creep on the ground,
I saw a Pismire, swallow up a Whale,
I saw a raging Sea, brim full of Ale,
I saw a Venice Glass, Sixteen foot deep,
I saw a well, full of mens tears that weep,
I saw their eyes, all in a flame of fire,
I saw a House, as big as the Moon and higher,
I saw the Sun, even in the midst of night,
I saw the man, that saw this wondrous sight.
Happy Christmas!
The Poetry Doctor
Problem:
Dear Poetry Doctor... Now, my cat has "waterworks" problems. Can you find a poem that might soothe my worries or, even better, those of the cat?
Prescription:
Here's a poem which should put a grin of greedy pleasure on the face of your poorly cat:
See how they run, see how they run,
They all ran after the farmer's wife,
Who cut off their tails with a carving knife,
Did you ever see such a thing in your life,
As three blind mice?
Three blind mice, three blind mice,
See how they run, see how they run,
They all ran after the farmer's wife,
Who cut off their tails with a carving knife,
Did you ever see such a thing in your life,
As three blind mice?
Product details
Format :
Paperback
ISBN: 9780140424706
Size : 129 x 198mm
Pages : 416
Published : 25 Sep 2008
Publisher : Penguin Classics
Other formats for Penguin's Poems for Life:
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Penguin's Poems for Life
Editor - Laura Barber
£9.99
