English

Blue sky, green fields, and lazy yellow sun!
— Why should I hunger for the burning South,
Where beauty needs no travail to be won,
— Now I may kiss her pure impassioned mouth?

Winds rippling with the rich delight of spring!
— Why should I yearn for myriad-colored skies,
Lit by auroral suns, when I may sing
— The flame and rapture of her starry eyes?

Oh, song of birds, and flowers fair to see!
— Why should I thirst for far-off Eden-isles,
When I may hear her discourse melody,

Blue sky and bluer sea with its white teeth showing,
Gold dunes made sweet by yellow jasmine growing,
And over sand and sea a keen wind blowing.

Gray skies and grayer days and the years swift going,
Youth's golden dunes all white with winter's snowing . . .
And in my heart the bitter wind of memory blowing.

The blue laguna rocks and quivers,
Dull gurgling eddies twist and spin,
The climate does for people's livers,
It 's a nasty place to anchor in
Is Spanish port,
Fever port,
Port of Holy Peter.

The town begins on the sea-beaches,
And the town 's mad with the stinging flies,
The drinking water 's mostly leeches,
It 's a far remove from Paradise
Is Spanish port,
Fever port,
Port of Holy Peter.

There 's sand-bagging and throat-slitting,
And quiet graves in the sea slime,

Blue jumped a rabbit, run him one solid mile
Blue jumped a rabbit, run him one solid mile
This rabbit sat down, crying like a natural child

Well it seem like you hungry, honey come and lunch with me
Seem like you hungry, honey come and lunch with me
I wanna stop these married looking women from worrying me

I have Uneeda biscuits here and a half a pint of gin
I have Uneeda biscuits here and a half a pint of gin
The gin is mighty fine but them biscuits are a little too thin

The blue, faded purple, horizon mount
Seemed to bellow the valleys in mists
Of enriching, ensuing, divine shadowings...
Where may this be? Perhaps unpopulated
Crags of stepping rocks, where thought
Slumbers, inhaled thought, unbearing
Real earth that refines e'en the insects' muse.
Royalty defies the haunt they chose,
Therein mingles wild, perspective charm,
As immortals' thorny, entangled growth
'Mongst the field of oaks, pressing steep
Twilight's veil, Milky Way's fence; the deep,
Lionized eagle hisses o'er this scene;

Grasses enclose the old palaces as waning sunlight shifts.
A lone wind-tossed cloud stops briefly: on what can it depend?
The view here, mountains and rivers, has never changed,
Yet the people within the city walls already are half gone.
The reed flowers that fill the land have grown old with me,
But into whose eaves have the swallows of my former home flown?
Now I depart on the road out of Chiang-nan;
Transformed into a weeping cuckoo, reeking of blood, I shall return.

Blow , wind, blow! and go, mill, go!
—That the miller may grind his corn;
That the baker may take it and into rolls make it,
—And send us some hot in the morn.

Blow gently over my garden,
— Wind of the Southern sea,
In the hour that my Love cometh
— And calleth me!
My Love shall entreat me sweetly,
— With voice like the wood-pigeon;
" I am here at the gate of thy garden,
— Here in the dawn. "

Then I shall rise up swiftly
— All in the rose and gray,
And open the gate to my Lover
— At dawning of day.
He hath crowns of pain on His forehead,
— And wounds in His hands and feet;
But here mid the dews of my garden
— His rest shall be sweet.

Blow , bugles, blow, soft and sweet and low,
Sing a good-night song for them who bravely faced the foe;
— — Sing a song of truce to pain,
— — Where they sleep nor wake again,
— — 'Neath the sunshine or the rain —
Blow, bugles, blow.

Wave, banners, wave, above each hero's grave,
Fold them, O thou stainless flag that they died to save;
— — All thy stars with glory bright,
— — Bore they on through Treason's night,
— — Through the darkness to the light —
Wave, banners, wave.

Blow, bugle!
But call us not again to battle.
Blow, blow, but waste no mortal's breath
In summoning our lads to death.
No more shall they be driven cattle!
Their war, and ours, is now for life.

Blow, bugle!
Predict the dawn, a friendly world —
For peace our labors!
Blow valiantly, to stay our hopes.
Blow, blow, though mankind blindly gropes.
All lands shall yet be friends and neighbors.
Today, let battle flags be furled.

Blow, bugle!
The world, repentant, longs for peace,