Short Poems

Thy eyes are sparks, Lycines, god-like made,
Or rather rays, O Lord, that send forth flame;
To look thee in the face I cannot claim,
So fierce a fire thy eyes have on me played.

Though you desire me I will still feign sleep
And check my eyes from opening to the day,
For as I lie, thrilled by your gold-dark flesh,
I think of how the dead, my dead, once lay.

Though the Muse be gone away,
Though she move not earth to-day,
Souls, erewhile who caught her word,
Ah! still harp on what they heard.

Thou, Whom rich and poor adore,
Grant me fifty millions more,
Earned or pilfered, foul or pure;
From man's law hold me secure.
So, when I have gained of gold
All my coffers well can hold,
I may give, O Lord, for Thee,
One-sixteenth in Charity.

Stay, passenger! this stone demands thy tears!
Here lies a parent's hope , of tender years!
Our sorrows now ! — But late our joy and praise!
Lost in the mild aurora of her days!
What virtues might have grac'd her fuller day!
But, ah! the charm, just shown, and snatch'd away!
Friendship, love, nature, all reclaim in vain!
Heav'n, when it wills, resumes its gifts again!

Thou cheat'st us Ford , mak'st one seeme two by Art.
What is Loves Sacrifice , but the broken Heart?

Those snooty boys in all their purple drag!
We'll never get our hands on one of those!
They're like ripe fig trees stuck up on a crag —
food only for vultures and high-flying crows.

This, the last ornament among the peers,
Bribed, bullied, swindled and blackmailed for years:
But Death's what even Politicians fail
To bribe or swindle, bully or blackmail.

This stone, beloved Sabinus, on thy grave
Memorial small of our great love shall be.
I still shall seek thee lost; from Lethe's wave,
Oh, drink not thou forgetfulness of me.

Where ale once flowed, and foaming tankards clinked,
Now coffee-shops thrust uninviting signs;
And over cups of cloudy coffee linked
With polychromic tarts, the poet pines!