Bad Poetry, Oh Noetry!

These profound observations come from the prolix pen of England's Alfred Austin (1835-1913) who is not only responsible for a lot more poetry but also some plays and an autobiography.

from "The Wind Speaks"

The flocks of the wandering waves I hold
In the hollows of my hand,
And I let them loose, like a huddled fold,
And with them I flood the land.

Till they swirl round villages, hamlets, thorpes,
As the cottagers flee for life:
Then I fling the fisherman's flaccid corpse
At the feet of the fisherman's wife.


And now we go from crappy and sad to flat out wrong. Next we have E.E. Bradford standing firmly against women's rights. Wow. I don't even know what to say. I'll let him speak for himself.

from "The Tree of Knowledge"

Canto XI "Equality"

I
In a sense a bee may be
Equal to an elephant,
Seeing she can certainly
Do a score of things he can't:
All the same the fact remains
She has not his force or brains.

II
That evening when the girls and Ray
Resumed their regulated play,
The lusty lad, more lightly dressed
Rolled up his sleeves and bared his chest.
A sister served: the boy returned.
A ball came bounding back and burned,
As if red-hot, her dainty cheek
She cried and raved. Ray did not speak,
But let the girls, like angry bees,
Swarm round and sting them at their ease
And when they all had said their say,
He simply bowed, and stolled away.

III
'I can sting; you can't,'
The bee said, 'and I'll do it.'
She stung the elephant.
He never knew it!

But soon by chance the burly brute
In passing crushed her with his foot.

*******

I know a guy who has a degree in zoology. I think Bradford has an inaccurate understanding of swarming.