Short Poems

Out for a morning meal a little crow, drenched with dew,
passes by with melancholy caws, drenched with dew.
This morning my lord looks merry indeed!

On first-paddy maidens deep in the hills, blossoms have opened!
opened, opened, blossoms have opened eightfold!
On the lovely treetops blossoms are in bud.
Blossoms have opened so the domain may increase.
The landowner was called a big pile, a millionaire!

A looking glass of a cherry's ash has a cherry's footprints. Long ago, a bird with pebble-ears fell in a looking glass in a wood, owl of eternal future solitude, thy nude body can be mistaken for golden glass, a great fire breaks out in Berlin, owl, listen. My sympathy was all poetry. Owl children, what is the lightbulb that is above the ninth infant girl's eyebrows and shines the most? Listen to these pebbles laughing. Do you see the snow of innumerable loves falling in tomorrow's winter?

Pagget, a School-boy, got a Sword, and then
He vow'd Destruction both to Birch, and Men:
Who wo'd not think this Yonker fierce to fight?
Yet coming home, but somewhat late, (last night)
Untruss, his Master bade him; and that word
Made him take up his shirt, lay down his sword.

Now thou art dead, no eye shall ever see,
For shape and service, Spaniell like to thee.
This shall my love doe, give thy sad death one
Teare, that deserves of me a million.

Night hides our thefts; all faults then pardon'd be:
All are alike faire, when no spots we see.
Lais and Lucrece, in the night time are
Pleasing alike; alike both singular:
Jone, and my Lady have at that time one,
One and the selfe-same priz'd complexion.
Then please alike the Pewter and the Plate;
The chosen Rubie, and the Reprobate.

Ourselves we do inter with sweet derision.
The channel of the dust who once achieves
Invalidates the balm of that religion
That doubts as fervently as it believes.

She schools the flighty pupils of her eyes,
With levell'd lashes stilling their disquiet;
And puts in leash her pair'd lips lest surprise
Bare the condition of a realm at riot.
If he suspect that she has ought to sigh at
His injury she'll avenge with raging shame.
She kept her love-thoughts on most lenten diet,
And learnt her not to startle at his name.

She did not love to love, but hated him
For making her to love; and so her whim
From passion taught misprision to begin.
And all this sin
Was because love to cast out had no skill
Self, which was regent still.
Her own self-will made void her own self's will.

Shall pride a heap of sculptur'd marble raise,
Some worthless, unmourn'd titled fool to praise;
And shall we not by one poor gravestone learn
Where genius, wit, and humour sleep with Sterne?