Short Poems

The wind chime under the eaves tinkles, tinkles,
the Flame Emperor's influences wiped off the earth, gone.
Plantain leaves, hardly green, are slow to report the rain;
lotus flowers, their scarlet faded, cannot withstand the wind.
Several calls of early geese startle my lone pillow;
a whiff of cool air sneaks in through my grille.
The round fan, I pity it, its use gradually lost,
has lately stayed, neglected, in the bamboo box.

Your green, green, round shadow was never away.
A while ago I welcomed you from Kyoto, home.
Your lid shielded my updo, always my companion,
handle in my hand's custody, you followed me everywhere:
on clear days when I went for mushrooms on autumn hills,
in a breeze, at a spring temple, where I was flower-drunk.
So, why one morning did you abandon me and leave?
Fearful of the sun, I hunger for you as for the morning meal.

TO MRS. M. M — ON HER PAINTING.

T O paint his Venus, auld Apelles
Wal'd a' the bonny maids of Greece:
Thou needs nae mair but paint thysell, lass,
To ding the painter and his piece.

ON A GOLD TEA-POT.

After the gaining Edinburgh's prize,
The day before, with running thrice,
Me Milncraig's rock most fairly won,
When thrice again the course he run:
Now for diversion 'tis my share
To run three heats and please the fair.

These did His Mother make
To shield Him from the cold;
That He might shelter take
In their soft fold.
Ah, happy swaddling clothes
That gave my God repose!

BEE NOT Deceived (Dull world) Hee is not Dead;
Rumor is false; open His Booke and read;
It is Himselfe; there, Everie Scene affords
Words above Action; Matter beyond words;
If Readers, what I say will not suffice
T' evince your Follies; I dare bid you twice,
What yet you have not Done: Open, and Read;
Recant; or else tis You, not Hee that's Dead.

For the Tomb of the old Biddlecombes, May 24, 1861

Lord Jesus, loving hearts and dear
Are resting in Thy shadow here;
In life Thou wast their hope, and we
In death would trust them, Lord, with Thee.

In Harmony, they say, the part
Which rules the strain, and wins the heart,
Is that which children compass best
Who learns the lesson, he is blest.

A sale that the Jews have not sold, what nobility nor crime have not tasted this qu'ignorent cursed love and infernal probity of the masses! that the time nor the science does not have to recognize:
The voices blended; fraternal awakening of all choral and orchestral energies and their instantaneous applications! Occasionally, unique, clear senses!
A body without selling price, excluding any race, any world, any gender, any progeny! Wealth gushing every move! Balance diamonds without control!

Dare very strong funny. Several have exploited your worlds. Without needs, and in no hurry to implement their brilliant faculties and experience of your consciences. What mature men! Dazed eyes to the way the summer, red and black night, traffic, steel dive golden stars; facies deformed sealed, blêmis, burned; frolicsome hoarseness! The cruel process of tinsel!-There are some young people, how they would look Cherub?-Filled frightening voice and some dangerous resources. They are sent to take back the city, decked out in a luxury disgusting.