Monday, November 02, 2009

So much to live for

I read this today and thought you might like it.

A Ballade of Suicide, by G.K. Chesterton

The gallows in my garden, people say,
Is new and neat and adequately tall;
I tie the noose on in a knowing way
As one that knots his necktie for a ball;
But just as all the neighbours---on the wall---
Are drawing a long breath to shout “Hurray!”
The strangest whim has seized me. . . . After all
I think I will not hang myself to-day.

To-morrow is the time I get my pay---
My uncle’s sword is hanging in the hall---
I see a little cloud all pink and grey---
Perhaps the rector’s mother will not call---
I fancy that I heard from Mr. Gall
That mushrooms could be cooked another way---
I never read the works of Juvenal---
I think I will not hang myself to-day.

The world will have another washing-day;
The decadents decay; the pedants pall;
And H.G. Wells has found that children play,
And Bernard Shaw discovered that they squall,
Rationalists are growing rational---
And through thick woods one finds a stream astray
So secret that the very sky seems small---
I think I will not hang myself to-day.


Prince, I can hear the trumpet of Germinal,
The tumbrels toiling up the terrible way;
Even to-day your royal head may fall,
I think I will not hang myself to-day.

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