E.A. Robinson
Miniver Cheevy (1907)

 

Miniver Cheevy, child of scorn,

 

Grew lean while he assailed the seasons;

 

He wept that he was ever born,

 

And he had reasons.

 

 

5

Miniver loved the days of old

 

When swords were bright and steeds were prancing;

 

The vision of a warrior bold

 

Would set him dancing.

 

 

 

Miniver sighed for what was not,

10

And dreamed, and rested from his labors;

 

He dreamed of Thebes and Camelot,

 

And Priam's neighbors.

 

 

 

Miniver mourned the ripe renown

 

That made so many a name so fragrant;

15

He mourned Romance, now on the town,

 

And Art, a vagrant.

 

 

 

Miniver loved the Medici,

 

Albeit he had never seen one;

 

He would have sinned incessantly

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Could he have been one.

 

 

 

Miniver cursed the commonplace

 

And eyed a khaki suit with loathing;

 

He missed the medieval grace

 

Of iron clothing.

 

 

25

Miniver scorned the gold he sought,

 

But sore annoyed was he without it;

 

Miniver thought, and thought, and thought,

 

And thought about it.

 

 

 

Miniver Cheevy, born too late,

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Scratched his head and kept on thinking;

 

Miniver coughed, and called it fate,

 

And kept on drinking.