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Monday’s Child – Full Poem. Monday’s child is fair of face . Tuesday’s child is full of grace. Wednesday’s child is full of woe. Thursday’s child has far to go. Friday’s child is loving and giving. Saturday’s child works hard for his living. And the child that is born on the Sabbath day. Is bonny and blithe, and good and gay.
18. Aug. 2022 · In today’s Poem of the Day, the Harlem Renaissance poet Countee Cullen (1903–1946) inverts all the old proverbs, truisms, fairy tales, and mythologies surrounding the birth of a child. For his speaker, the conventional imagery of good fortune and anointing — the silver spoon, the mysterious star, the good fairies gathered with their gifts — forms an alien language, a language he must ...
Saturday's Child Summary and Analysis of Stanzas 1-3. Summary. The speaker begins the poem with a comparison between his own upbringing and that of a privileged child. He says that some children are born with a silver spoon, while he had to cut his teeth like a raccoon, preparing for attack. He continues on in this vein, noting that these ...
Saturday's Child. Some are teethed on a silver spoon, With the stars strung for a rattle; I cut my teeth as the black raccoon—. For implements of battle. Some are swaddled in silk and down, And heralded by a star; They swathed my limbs in a sackcloth gown. On a night that was black as tar.
"Saturday's Child" examines the way that two individuals can be born in vastly different circumstances, highlighting the way race impacts their lives. The poem is written in quatrains with an ABAB rhyme scheme. The naturally paired nature of this structure allows the speaker to alternate between describing his birth and that of wealthy, white children. The poem's song-like rhythm also gives ...
2. Mai 2015 · Saturday's Child. For implements of battle. On a night that was black as tar. And Pain godfathered me. And, "One mouth more to feed." My folks could beg or borrow. Some are teethed on a silver spoon, With the stars strung for a rattle; I cut my teeth as the black racoon-- For implements of battle. Some are swaddled in silk and down, And ...
Saturday’s Child. For implements of battle. On a night that was black as tar. And Pain godfathered me. And, “One mouth more to feed.”. My folks could beg or borrow. Some are teethed on a silver spoon…. With the stars strung for a rattle…. I cut my teeth as the black raccoo….
