Short Poems

Ever the echo of Love sounds in my ears; in silence my eye sheds a tear to Desire; neither night nor day assuages me. Already through love-spells an impress is marked on my heart.
O winged Loves, do you know so well how to fly to me and yet not how to fly away?

O hair of Timo, O sandal of Heliodora, O myrrh-breathing mouth of Demarion, O voluptuous laugh of ox-eyed Anticleia, O new-flowered coronals of Dorothea!
Your quiver, Love, conceals no more winged shafts — all your arrows are in me!

Immortall BEN is dead; and as that ball
On Ida toss'd, so is his Crowne by all
The Infantry of wit. Vaine Priests! That chaire
Is only fit for his true Sonne and Heire.
Reach here the Lawrell: Randolph , 'tis thy praise;
Thy naked Scull shall well become the Bayes.
See, Daphne courts thy Ghost: and spite of fate,
Thy Poims shall be Poet Laureat .

Tell her that, Dorcas; tell her everything over, Dorcas, a second and a third time.
Run, don't linger, fly!
A moment, Dorcas! Wait just a moment.
Why do you hurry off, Dorcas, before you have heard all I have to say?
Add to what I said before — or rather (why am I such a fool?) say nothing at all — but only — say everything, be sure you say everything.
What use is there in sending you, Dorcas? I go with you and arrive there before you!

Are lovers full of fire?
How comes it then my verses are so cold?
And how, when I am nigh her,
And fit occasion wills me to be bold,
The more I burn, the more I do desire,
The less I dare require?
Ah love! this is thy wond'rous art,
To freeze the tongue, and fire the heart.

ANSWER TO HER QUESTION, WHAT LOVE WAS .

If I behold your eyes,
Love is a paradise:
But if I view my heart,
'Tis an infernal smart.

F RAGMENT

Think not that with Kevser's praises hearts become of joy full;
Preacher, rather doth the tale of mouth and kiss the soul rule.
Thinking of her rubies red, whene'er I drink tobacco,
The nargila's a flask of wine, the pipe-bowl is a sumbul.
Know how holy is her land: — who dwelleth in Edirna,
Ere he to the Ka'ba bends, doth turn him to Istambul.

Let him be sold as he sleeps in his mother's arms, let him be sold! Why should such a wastrel be nourished?
He was born snub-nosed and winged; he scratches savagely with his nails, he laughs and cries at once; moreover he is obstinate, ever-talking, sharp-sighted, wild, and not even gentle to his mother. A complete monster.
Let him be sold. If any merchant, just about to sail, wishes to buy a slave, let him step forward.
But see! he begs, he weeps! I will not sell you! Be happy, you shall stay and grow up near Zenophile.

I make a proclamation after wild Love, who flew from my bed this very morning.
He is a child, causing-sweet-tears, ever-talking, sharp, fearless, laughing with wrinkled nose, winged on his back and carrying a quiver.
I cannot tell who was his father, for neither the Air, the Earth nor the Sea would boast of begetting him; everywhere and by every one he is hated. Take care he does not set new snares in your souls!
But look! there he is in his lair. I see you, little arrowshooter, hiding in Zenophile's eyes!

Terrible — O Love, you are terrible!
What use is it for me to lament, saying again and again: " Love is terrible " ? He laughs at me; he is glad to be abused; he feeds upon curses!
It is a marvel to me, Aphrodite, how you who were born from the hoary sea, brought forth fire from water!