Short Poems

My work done, I lean on the window-sill,
watching the dripping trees.
The rain is over, the wet pavement shines.
From the bare twigs
rows of drops like shining buds are hanging.

A LONG the woodland path we took
I walk alone today,
Between white drifts of loveliness
New flowered by the way.
Lightly did we meet, my dear,
And smiling did we part —
But where you passed there is a trail
Of blossoms in my heart.

All through the night my eyes have streamed with rain
Of ceaseless tears, striving relief to gain
From that distress, which thralls my sleepless brain
Alway since my dear comrade went away.
For yesterday my lover, leaving me,
Set out for Ephesus, and now if he
Return not swift and end this misery,
Alone upon my couch I cannot stay.

All is phantom that we mid fare,
Naked and poor hence we shall fare,
All shall be other man's that we for care,
But that we done for God's love have we no mair.

You cry, She's bred in the Old Way ;
Then into Laughter fall:
Were she as just to you, she'd say,
You are not bred at all.

All buildings are but monuments of death,
— All clothes but winding sheets for our last knell,
All dainty fattings for the worms beneath,
— All curious music but our passing bell:
Thus death is nobly waited on, for why
All that we have is but death's livery.

Alas, that ever that speche was spoken
That the fals aungel seid to me!
Alas! oure maker's bidding is broken,
For I have touched his owen dere tree.
Oure flescly eyn bin all unloken;
Naked for sinne oureself we see;
That sory appel that we ham soken
To dethe hathe brouth my spouse and me.

Ah , yes! I wrote the " Purple Cow" —
I'm Sorry, now, I Wrote it!
But I can Tell you, Anyhow,
I'll Kill you if you Quote it!

Acton Beauchamp, the poorest place in all the nation,
A lousy parson, a nitty clerk, and a shabby congregation.

*****The accursed power which stands on Privilege

(And goes with Women, and Champagne and Bridge)
Broke — and Democracy resumed her reign:
(Which goes with Bridge, and Women and Champagne).