Short Poems

Hi! The creator too is blind,
Struggling toward his harmonious whole,
Rejecting intermediate parts,
Horrors and falsities and wrongs;
Incapable master of all force,

So art thou broken in upon me, Apollo,
Through a splendor of purple garments —
Held by the yellow-haired Clymene
To clothe the white of thy shoulders —
Bare from the day's leaping of horses.
This is strange to me, here in the modern twilight.

Suddenly discovering in the eyes of the very beautiful
Normande cocotte
The eyes of the very learned British Museum assistant.

The heart would ask of thee, its pearl,
" Why it 's imprison'd by a curl
Of that meand'ring hair? "
She answer'd, " If the heart is mad,
No lighter chain is to be had
That lunatics — can spare . "

II

Not his the Buddhist's creed, the Christian's name,
Between two open doors a wind-blown flame;
His was the largest faith, the heaven-born creed
That shaped his life in thought, in speech, in deed.

The Solemn League and Covenant
Now brings a smile, now brings a tear.
But sacred Freedom, too, was theirs;
If thou 'rt a slave, indulge thy sneer.

From the white-blossom'd sloe, my dear Chloris requested
A sprig, her fair breast to adorn:
No, by Heavens! I replied, let me perish for ever,
Ere I plant in that bosom a thorn!

Kemble, thou cur'st my unbelief
Of Moses and his rod:
At Yarico's sweet notes of grief
The rock with tears had flow'd. —

Dear Peter, dear Peter,
We poor sons of metre
Are often negleckit, ye ken;
For instance, your sheet, man,
(Tho' glad I'm to see 't, man),
I get it no ae day in ten.
R.B.

Envy, if thy jaundiced eye,
Through this window chance to spy,
To thy sorrow thou shalt find,
All that 's generous, all that 's kind,
Friendship, virtue, every grace,
Dwelling in this happy place.