English

Drop a pebble in the water — jes' a splash an' it is gone,
But th's half a hundred ripples circlin' on, an' on, an' on,
Spreadin', spreadin' from the center, flowin' on out to the sea,
An' th' ain't no way o' tellin' where th' end is goin' to be.
Drop a pebble in the water — in a minute ye forget,
But th's little waves a-flowin' an' th's ripples circlin' yet;
All th' ripples flowin', flowin', to a mighty wave hev grown,
An' ye've disturbed a mighty river — jes' by droppin' in a stone.
Drop an unkind word or careless — in a minute it is gone,

Droop under doves' wings silent, breathing shapes
white coverlids dissimulate; in hope
of opiate aid to round the ledge where gapes
the sootblack gulf in which obtuse minds grope

for very nothing, vast and undefined,
in starless depths no astrolabe can probe.
The moving form, as doomed to pass and wind,
unwind and pass anew, in sleep-dyed robe

of firmamental silence more than hue,
watches the doorway of the tired's escape
only. Fatigue gone on; I left behind

with moths' feet, wordless whispering; or find

Saw ye Jenny Nettles,
Jenny Nettles, Jenny Nettles;
Saw ye Jenny Nettles,
Coming frae the market;
Bag and baggage on her back,
Her fee and bountith in her lap;
Bag and baggage on her back,
And a babie in her oxter?

I met ayont the cairny
Jenny Nettles, Jenny Nettles,
Singing till her bairny,
Robin Rattle's bastard.
To flee the dool upo' the stool,
And ilka ane that mocks her,
She round about seeks Robin out,
To stap it in his oxter.

Fy, fy! Robin Rattle,

Drivin' steel, drivin' steel,
Drivin' stell, boys,
Is hard work, I know;
Drivin' steel, drivin' steel,
Drivin' steel, boys,
Is hard work, I know.

Treat me right, treat me right,
Treat me right, boys,
I am bound to stay all day;
Treat me wrong, treat me wrong,
Treat me wrong, boys,
I am bound to run away.

Boss man, boss man,
Boss man, boys,
See the boss man comin' down the line,
Boss man, boss man,
Boss man, boys,
See the boss man comin' down the line.

Drink and dance and laugh and lie,
Love, the reeling midnight through,
For tomorrow we shall die!
(But, alas, we never do.)

DRIFTING SANDS and a caravan, the desert's endless space .
Lustrous eyes 'neath Eastern skies, and a woman's veiled face.

Brigands bold on their Arab steeds, trampling all in their wake,
From out of the mystic Eastern lore one page from the book we take.
The sands of time move slowly in the hourglass of life,
But not on the desert's drifting sands, where bloodshed is and strife.
Out from the cruel, lashing sting of the world's merciless hate,
The soul of a man to the desert came to grapple its chance with Fate.

Oh, Most High, Almighty, Good Lord God, to Thee belong
praise, glory, honor and all blessing.
Praised be my Lord God, with all His creatures, and especially
our brother the Sun, who brings us the day and who brings
us the light: fair is he, and he shines with a very great
splendor.
O Lord, he signifies us to thee!
Praised be my Lord for our sister the Moon, and for the stars,
the which He has set clear and lovely in the heaven.
Praised be my Lord for our brother the wind, and for air and

Dreary lay the long road, dreary lay the town,
Lights out and never a glint o' moon:
Weary lay the stragglers, half a thousand down,
Sad sighed the weary big Dragoon.
" Oh! if I'd a drum here to make them take the road again,
Oh! if I'd a fife to wheedle — come, boys, come!
You that mean to fight it out, wake and take your load again,
Fall in! Fall in! Follow the fife and drum!

" Hey, but here's a toy shop, here's a drum for me,
Penny whistles too to play the tune!
Half a thousand dead men soon shall hear and see

Dreary and brown the night comes down,
Gloomy, without a star.
On Palos town the night comes down;
The day departs with a stormy frown;
The sad sea moans afar.

A convent-gate is near; 't is late;
Ting-ling! the bell they ring.
They ring the bell, they ask for bread —
" Just for my child, " the father said.
Kind hands the bread will bring.

White was his hair, his mien was fair,
His look was calm and great.
The porter ran and called a friar;
The friar made haste and told the prior:

A dreamlike leap
By England's Sleep!
He didn't doze,
He did a douze .
His legs arose
In curlicues.

He shrugged, “O.K., I'll make a run,”
And then went heavenward (that's one),
And five times crossed, and uncrossed five,
And then returned to earth alive.

And on TV, no less. Voilà!
Sleep's the king of entrechat.

Nijinsky, may he rest in peace—
Would that he were above the ground!
Nijinsky settled for but dix
Movements in a single bound.

A joy forever. He will last.