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Down, wanton, down! Have you no shame
That at the whisper of Love's name,
Or Beauty's, presto! up you raise
Your angry head and stand at gaze?
Poor bombard-captain, sworn to reach
The ravelin and effect a breach--
Indifferent what you storm or why,
So be that in the breach you die!
Love may be blind, but Love at least
Knows what is man and what mere beast;
Or Beauty wayward, but requires
More delicacy from her squires.
Tell me, my witless, whose one boast
Could be your staunchness at the post,
When were you made a man of parts
To think fine and profess the arts?
Will many-gifted Beauty come
Bowing to your bald rule of thumb,
Or Love swear loyalty to your crown?
Be gone, have done! Down, wanton, down!
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Copyright © 2003-2008 Gunnar Bengtsson, Poetry Connection. All Rights Reserved.
This is a poem about a man who has an erection at an inopportune moment and is disgusted with his Johnson for being so indiscriminate and lustful. He's shouting at it to go away. It's an example of the struggle between head and little head.
Vanessa from United States