Short Poems

WHEN little more than boy in age,
I deem'd myself almost a sage;
But now seem worthier to be styl'd
For ignorance almost a child.

I WISH thy lot, now bad, still worse, my friend,
For when at worst, they say, things always mend!

By an Old School-Fellow of his at Westminster

Hastings ! I knew thee young, and of a mind,
While young, humane, conversable, and kind,
Nor can I well believe thee, gentle THEN ,
Now grown a villain, and the WORST of men.
But rather some suspect, who have oppress'd
And worried thee, as not themselves the BEST .

Sent with Two Cockscombs to Miss Green

Two powder'd coxcombs wait at your command,
And, what is strange, both dress'd by Nature's hand.
Like other fops, they dread a sudden shower,
And seek a shelter in your closest bower.
Showy like them, like them they yield no fruit,
But then, to make amends, they both are mute.

An Old Man's Thoughts
Lonelier still than last year, you know, this autumn evening

At Kaya in Tamba
Delight of crossing a summer river, sandals in hand

In autumn, on the day when there was a storm, I went to Gojo. As I took my leave:
Like tinkling gems, neither dewdrops nor tears stay — at the house where I long for the one who's dead, or in the autumn wind

The Rose is Love's own flower, and Love's no less
The Lily's tenderness.
Then half their dignity must Roses yield
To Lilies of the field?
Nay, diverse notes make up true harmony,
All-fashioned loves agree:
Love wears the Lily's whiteness, and Love glows
In the deep-hearted Rose.

You were born in the Spring
When the pretty birds sing
In sunbeamy bowers:
Then dress like a Fairy,
Dear dumpling my Mary,
In green and in flowers.

A trumpet pealed thro' France. Then Italy
Stirred, shook, from sea to sea.
Then many cities broke
Their lawful yoke.
Then in an evil hour
Perugia on her fort-crowned hill

[The rest of the poem is missing from the notebook.]