Short Poems

" O DEWDROP, lay thy finger-tip
Of moisture on my fevered lip, "
The noonday Blossom cries.
" Alas, O Dives, dark and deep
The gulf impassable of Sleep
Henceforth between us lies! "

White owl is not gloomy;
Black bat is not sad.
It is only that each has forgotten
Something he used to remember:
Black bat goes searching ... searching ...
White owl says over and over
Who? What? Where?

The sun has a face that is laughing and red
When nurse pulls me out in the morning from bed;
But he's not half so sly as the silly old moon,
Who winks when I'm sent to my bedroom too soon.

Ye liberal souls who rev'rence Friendship's name,
Who boast her blessings, and who feel her flame;
O! if from early youth one friend you've lov'd,
Whom warm affection chose, and taste approv'd;
If you have known what anguish rends the heart,
When such, so known, so lov'd, for ever part;
Approach! — For you the mourner rears this stone,
To sooth your sorrows, and record his own.

Give me children,
Virtue, it is true, is excellent
But it does not like to be long alone.
If it is not to perish,
It must be fruitful!
Otherwise, I shall die!

I have a house where I go
When there's too many people,
I have a house where I go
Where no one can be;
I have a house where I go,
Where nobody ever says " No "
Where no one says anything — so
There is no one but me.

What news to-day? — " Oh! worse and worse —
" Mac is the Prince's Privy Purse! " —
The Prince's Purse! no, no, you fool,
You mean the Prince's Ridicule .

for William Morris

Now as I look the long procession of the workers trails before me,
At its head this bearded god, a stick in his hand, a song of liberation upon his lips,
Marching with him gods not yet awake, waking, throwing off ages old lethargies,
Lights of revived life streaming from him to them and back again as the ominous pageant of the dispossessed passes, passes, passes.

Thou that art farre more worthy of the bayes,
Daigne to assist my home-spunne untun'd layes
With gracious censure, for upon thy tong,
Depends the grace, and fortune of my song.
So sharpe a wit, and judgement dwell in thee,
Refin'd by such rare knowledge, that I see
Apollo's trees may grow else-where, then on
Our greene Parnassus , or our Helicon .

To season fresh acquaintance, these lines take
From him, that for his friends, and vertues sake
Dares rather doe, then speake: for talke he deemes
Is womanish; but action men beseemes.
If ought abides then in me, or my Muse,
Worth your command; tis ready for your use.