On the Refusal of the University of Oxford to Subscribe to his Translation of Homer

Could Homer come himself, distress'd and poor,
And tune his harp at Rhedicina's door,
The rich old vixen would exclaim (I fear)
Begone! no tramper gets a farthing here.

The cotton blouse you wear, your mother said,
After a day of toil, " I guess I'll buy it " ;
For ribbons on your head and blouse she paid
Two-bits a yard — as if you would deny it!

And nights, after a day of kitchen toil,
She stitched your re-made skirt of serge — once blue —
Weary of eye, beneath a lamp of oil:
McDonogh would be proud of her and you.

Next, came white " creepers " and white stockings, too —
They almost asked her blood when they were sold;
Like some dark princess, to the school go you,

The corpse rotted from its exhibiting noose
like a horrible fruit from the bough,
witness to an unbelievable sentence,
swaying pendulous above the road.

The obscene nakedness, the protruding tongue,
and a high tuft of hair like a cockscomb,
lent it a comic look; at my horse's feet
a group of rapscallions sported and guffawed.

And the dismal remains, with lolling head,
scandalous and swollen on the green gibbet,
spread their gust of stench upon the breeze,

swinging with a censer's measured gravity.

The cool of bamboo invades my room;
moonlight from the fields fills the corners of the court;
dew gathers till it falls in drops;
a scattering of stars, now there, now gone
A firefly threading the darkness makes its own light;
birds at rest on the water call to each other;
all these lie within the shadow of the sword —
Powerless I grieve as the clear night passes.

The cock crows—cock-a-doodle-doo!—the east grows bright;
from every house, people rush out to slave for profit!
They dash to the east, hustle to the west,
tumbling over each other:
thousands of dollars? tens of thousands? No amount is enough!
In your noble hall you sit calmly, not doing a thing;
clumps of green trees overhang limpid wavelets.
Wearing colorful clothes, you pour wine
for your compassionate father:
elder brothers and younger brothers, all truly happy.
In human life, poverty doesn't matter if the Way is present:

(A Retrospect.)

Convulsions came; and, where the field
Long slept in pastoral green,
A goblin-mountain was upheaved
(Sure the scared sense was all deceived),
Marl-glen and slag-ravine.

The unreserve of Ill was there,
The clinkers in her last retreat;
But, ere the eye could take it in,
Or mind could comprehension win,
It sunk! — and at our feet.

So, then, Solidity's a crust —
The core of fire below;
All may go well for many a year,
But who can think without a fear
Of horrors that happen so?

Content thyself with thy estate,
Seek not to climb above the skies;
For often love is mixed with hate,
And 'twixt the flowers the serpent lies:
Where fortune sends her greatest joys,
There once possessed they are but toys.

What thing can earthly pleasure give
That breeds delight when it is past?
Or who so quietly doth live
But storms of cares do drown at last?
This is the law of worldly hire,
The more we have, the more desire.

contend in a sea which the land partly encloses
shielding them from the too-heavy blows
of an ungoverned ocean which when it chooses

tortures the biggest hulls, the best man knows
to pit against its beatings, and sinks them pitilessly.
Mothlike in mists, scintillant in the minute

brilliance of cloudless days, with broad bellying sails
they glide to the wind tossing green water
from their sharp prows while over them the crew crawls

ant-like, solicitously grooming them, releasing,
making fast as they turn, lean far over and having

The consummation of their lawless pleasure
Was done. They rose up from the mattress;
Hurriedly dressed themselves without speaking.
They go out separately, secretly from the house; and as
They walk rather uneasily up the street, it seems
As if they suspect that something about them betrays
On what sort of bed they lay down not long ago.

But for the artist how his life has gained.
Tomorrow, the next day or years after will be written
The lines of strength that here had their beginning.

Consider well that both by night and day
While we busily provide and care
For our disport, our revel and our play,
For pleasant melody and dainty fare,
Death stealeth on full slily; unaware
He lieth at hand and shall us all surprise,
We wot not when nor where nor in what wise.

When fierce temptations threat thy soul with loss
Think on His Passion and the bitter pain,
Think on the mortal anguish of the Cross,
Think on Christ's blood let out at every vein,
Think of His precious heart all rent in twain;