English

First a monkey, then a man.
Just the way the world began.

The firmament, with golden stars adorned,
The sailor's watchful eyes full well contenteth,
And afterward, with tempest overspread,
The absent lights of heaven he sore lamenteth.
Your face, the firmament of my repose,
Long time has kept my waking thoughts delighted,
But now the cloud of sorrow overgoes
Your glorious skies, wherewith I am affrighted.
For I that have my life and fortunes placed
Within the ship, that by those planets saileth,
By envious chance am overmuch disgraced,
Seeing the lodestar of my courses faileth:

Firefly, airplane, satellite, star
How I wonder which you are.

The fire on the hearth is the woman's fire,
Yellow and warm and pale with desire;
But the fire on the hill beneath the trees
Is red and green against men's knees.

The indoor fire is dim with tears,
Nursing women and their fears;
The campfire, flaring to a star,
Fans the wind where hunters are.

The fire is out, and spent the warmth thereof
(This is the end of every song man sings!)
The golden wine is drunk, the dregs remain,
Bitter as wormwood and as salt as pain;
And health and hope have gone the way of love
Into the drear oblivion of lost things.
Ghosts go along with us until the end;
This was a mistress, this, perhaps, a friend.
With pale, indifferent eyes, we sit and wait
For the dropt curtain and the closing gate:
This is the end of all the songs man sings.

Fine merry franions,
Wanton companions,
My days are ever banyans
With thinking upon ye!
How Death, that last stinger,
Finis--uriter, end-bringer,
Has laid his chill finger,
Or is laying on ye.

There's rich Kitty Wheatley,
With footing it featly
That took me completely,
She sleeps in the Kirk House;
And poor Polly Perkin,
Whose Dad was still firking,
The jolly ale firkin
She's gone to the Workhouse.

Fine gardener, Ben Carter,
(In ten counties no smarter)
Has ta'en his departure

Fine knacks for ladies, cheap, choice, brave and new,
Good pennyworths,--but money cannot move:
I keep a fair but for the Fair to view,--
A beggar may be liberal of love.
Though all my wares be trash, the heart is true,
The heart is true.

Great gifts are guiles and look for gifts again,
My trifles come as treasures from my mind;
It is a precious jewel to be plain;
Sometimes in shell the orient'st pearls we find:
Of others take a sheaf, of me a grain!
Of me a grain!

Fine fish to net,
ray, skate;
Milord's wine is
heavy and wet.

Fish to trap,
bream, tench,
Milord has wine
to drink and quench.

Fine fish to trap,
carp and mud-fish,
Milor' has wine
in quantities'h

Food in plenty
say good food
Plenty of food
all of it good,

This the song each guest agrees on:
Milor's good food all fits the season.

" FILL high the bowl, and spice it well, and pour
The dews oblivious: for the Cross is sharp,
The Cross is sharp, and He
Is tenderer than a lamb.

" He wept by Lazarus" grave — how will He bear
This bed of anguish? and His pale weak form
Is worn with many a watch
Of sorrow and unrest.

" His sweat last night was as great drops of blood,

Fight your little fight, my boy,
fight and be a man.
Don't be a good little, good little boy
being as good as you can

and agreeing with all the mealy-mouthed, mealy-mouthed
truths that the sly trot out
to protect themselves and their greedy-mouthed, greedy-mouthed
cowardice, every old lout.

Don't live up to the dear little girl who costs
you your manhood, and makes you pay.
Nor the dear old mater who so proudly boasts
that you'll make your way.

Don't earn golden opinions, opinions golden,