The Poetry Corner

Teignmouth: "Some Doggerel," Sent In A Letter To B. R. Haydon

By John Keats

I. Here all the summer could I stay, For there's Bishop's teign And King's teign And Coomb at the clear Teign head Where close by the stream You may have your cream All spread upon barley bread. II. There's Arch Brook And there's Larch Brook Both turning many a mill, And cooling the drouth Of the salmon's mouth And fattening his silver gill. III. There is Wild wood, A Mild hood To the sheep on the lea o' the down, Where the golden furze, With its green, thin spurs, Doth catch at the maiden's gown. IV. There is Newton Marsh With its spear grass harsh A pleasant summer level Where the maidens sweet Of the Market Street Do meet in the dusk to revel. V. There's the Barton rich With dyke and ditch And hedge for the thrush to live in, And the hollow tree For the buzzing bee And a bank for the wasp to hive in. VI. And O, and O The daisies blow And the primroses are waken'd, And violets white Sit in silver plight, And the green bud's as long as the spike end. VII. Then who would go Into dark Soho, And chatter with dack'd-hair'd critics, When he can stay For the new-mown hay, And startle the dappled Prickets?