Poet’s Corner! Poet’s Corner! Oh, I’ll be a vengeful mourner, Not to make my own march thither, Not to slope and slake and slither Through South Transept’s window rosy, Censing angels Doubting dozy, Thomas, Christopher, each saint My own sin manifold would taint The glory first of Chaucer, By dorter staircase courser, Steed the Clerk of Works had ridden, Tales of Canterbury there bidden, Portrait of the people From high, to middle, low, Socially deprived the folk, Had Dickens spelt their woe; Abolition of the slave trade, Wreath laid on his tomb, Gothic Green Room liminal, Old paintings forth its womb. Sixteen World War poets, The debt we owe immense, Whilst Baronet John Pringle’s groundwork Planted medicine’s fence For Red Cross and the military, Learnt botany the bog, Oh what a place for breakthroughs, Marvellous its thinning fog! Thomas Triplett’s charities, Thomas Shadwell’s launch, Dryden he returned with interest, Laureates their paunch. Adam Fox’s advocation, Read the verse once more, Plato did he champion, Bravo! I’ll swear that fourscore. Thomas Hardy’s sorrow, Remorse her death Did push his pen to poesie, Strong heart make light a bishop’s burning, True tragedy if was indeed consumed a baser animal… Oh, fate! From Seafarer’s sally to Shakspere’s strapping sullied sovereign its circumference, And as Hannah somnambulates her hostess’s hallucinations, I suppose we truly are left with that Thought-Fox, this – Indifference and caprice, The forces of our world, ’Tis why the variegated Poet’s Corner Muddled is and whirled!