Short Poems

Woe unto them that decree unrighteous decrees, and that write grievousness which they have prescribed; to turn aside the needy from judgment, and to take away the right from the poor of my people, that widows may be their prey, and that they may rob the fatherless!
And what will ye do in the day of visitation, and in the desolation which shall come from far? to whom will ye flee for help? and where will ye leave your glory?

Here I am, a lazy old man. Normally I find it so bothersome to have people coming to see me that I often vow in my heart, " I'll never meet or invite people. " But what can I do? — on a moonlit night or in the snowy morning I long for my friends. At such a time, quietly I drink sake alone, talking in my mind. I push open the door of my hut and look at the snow. I take up my cup again, dip my brush and put it away. Here I am, a demented old man:
I drink sake and find it harder to sleep this snowy night

Live I, so live I,
To my Lord heartily,
To my Prince faithfully,
To my Neighbor honestly,
Die I, so die I.

A blind man is a poor man, and blind a poor man is;
For the former seeth no man, and the latter no man sees.

Abodements desolate mans mind disturbs
The loss of friends the withering of hopes
That ever & anon his peace disturbs
While joy as paramour with fear elopes

The Primrose

Sweet primrose peeping in the hazel copse
Beneath the maple roots of grass green moss
Where hermit woodman at his labour stops
Or may be peeping by a clump of gorse
Its sulphur bunches flower with brunny eye

When I visit a spot I have witnessd before
In infancys innocent day
Or see a sweet place I may never see more
From my own native fields far away
Some shade which I found when the hot summer smild
How long reccolection endears
I picture them fresh in my mind like a child
& keep them in memory for years.

Farey elves those minute things
That sleep and dream in flowers
That come on summers golden wings
To dance in moonlight bowers
That on a mushroom table sups
By glowworms trembling light
& drink their dews from acorn cups
Thro summers pleasant night.

The roads begin to stand wi spungy pudges
& the maid of[t] pauses on her way
To spy a stone or tuft of grass
To stride on & escape a[c]ross
Without wet feet.

The winter winnowed chill And fast came down the snow
T'was white on every hill In rucks the drift did blow
When a bonny Irish maiden
Came barefoot throug[h] the Snow.