(12 May 1812 – 29 January 1888 / London / England)

Cold Are The Crabs

Cold are the crabs that crawl on yonder hills,
Colder the cucumbers that grow beneath,
And colder still the brazen chops that wreathe
The tedious gloom of philosophic pills!
For when the tardy film of nectar fills
The simple bowls of demons and of men,
There lurks the feeble mouse, the homely hen,
And there the porcupine with all her quills.
Yet much remains - to weave a solemn strain
That lingering sadly - slowly dies away,
Daily departing with departing day
A pea-green gamut on a distant plain
When wily walrusses in congresses meet -
Such such is life -

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Comments (22)

One of the best poems by Edward Lear......
Coloured cucumbers grow beneath the cold are the crabs that crawl on yonder hills. This poem has rich imagery. This is excellently written.
An absolute philosophical visionary with thoughts that conjure thoughts within.
Philosophy or strains of everyday life......all is defined by a poet’s outlook...the moment he/she picks the poem. Enjoyed the unique and interesting metaphors.
A thoughtfully envisioned life song crafted by a master craftsman. A superb classic poem.
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