Short Poems

Rose of the Rancho,
Flower-like you are,
A rose indeed,
But — even more, a Starr!

Dear David Harum, your quaint wisdom comes
Fresh from the land we love to call our own.
It is the bird that sings, the bee that hums,
The wind that blows across a grove o'ergrown;
In him who voices you, you live again,
We know not which is Harum, —
Which is Crane!

Creator by your rare impersonation
Of Melisande, a Master's fine creation,
At your seductive charm, we cry again,
" May God have pity on the hearts of men. "

Have you heard of Jack Marbury, he from the West?
He's a terror at cards —
But his heart is the best.
Oh! the maids he caressed,
And the sins he confessed.
But he's white just the same
For he'll take all the blame, —
Have you heard of Jack Marbury, he from the West?

Could " Everyman " and every woman too,
But hear your voice as we were wont to do,
In deep rich tones invoking prayer or praise,
Then Every Man were better all his days.

O Love, more deep and vast than the wide sky,
Here in thine arms close held, I trembling lie,

And drink the dews of Paradise again
When Love no more is loneliness and pain,

But all the bliss of vision touched with flame
Speaks in my soul thine everlasting name!

[SCENE XVIII.]

Enter the Friar with a halter about his neck.

[SCENE XI.]

Enter [J ACK ] the Novice and his company, to give the Queen music at her tent .

Jack . Come, fellows, cast yourselves even round in a string — a ring I would say: come, merrily on my word, for the queen is most liberal, and if you will please her well, she will pay you royally: so, lawful to brave well thy British lustily to solace our good queen: God save her grace, and give our young prince a carpell in their kind! Come on, come on, set your crowds, and beat your heads together, and behave you handsomely.

Adapted from the Vita Nuova of Dante

What Mary is when she a little smiles
I cannot even tell or call to mind,
It is a miracle so new, so rare.

My Soule , sad Soule , now sommon al thy Povvres
To seeke out Misteries past finding out!
But first, inuoke the Heau'ns to stream their Showres
Of Diuine Graces on thee, to disrout
The Clouds of darknesse, which ingirt thy Towres
And that vncompast Round thou go'st about!
If trauelling by Night we pray for Day,
Now must we going [blind] a wailesse Way