“
Atkins
Yonder's the man with his life in his hand,
Legs on the march for whatever the land,
Or to the slaughter, or to the maiming,
Getting the dole of a dog for pay.
Laurels he clasps in the words 'duty done,'
England his heart under every sun:-
Exquisite humour! that gives him a naming
Base to the ear as an ass's bray.
- 85 Views
Translation
Find a translation for this poem in other languages:
Select another language:
- - Select -
简体中文 (Chinese - Simplified)
繁體中文 (Chinese - Traditional)
Español (Spanish)
Esperanto (Esperanto)
日本語 (Japanese)
Português (Portuguese)
Deutsch (German)
العربية (Arabic)
Français (French)
Русский (Russian)
ಕನ್ನಡ (Kannada)
한국어 (Korean)
עברית (Hebrew)
Український (Ukrainian)
اردو (Urdu)
Magyar (Hungarian)
मानक हिन्दी (Hindi)
Indonesia (Indonesian)
Italiano (Italian)
தமிழ் (Tamil)
Türkçe (Turkish)
తెలుగు (Telugu)
ภาษาไทย (Thai)
Tiếng Việt (Vietnamese)
Čeština (Czech)
Polski (Polish)
Bahasa Indonesia (Indonesian)
Românește (Romanian)
Nederlands (Dutch)
Ελληνικά (Greek)
Latinum (Latin)
Svenska (Swedish)
Dansk (Danish)
Suomi (Finnish)
فارسی (Persian)
ייִדיש (Yiddish)
հայերեն (Armenian)
Norsk (Norwegian)
English (English)
Discuss this George Meredith poem with the community:
Citation
Use the citation below to add this poem to your bibliography:
"Atkins" Poetry.net. STANDS4 LLC, 2019. Web. 14 Dec. 2019. <https://www.poetry.net/poem/15438/atkins>.