The Missing Link

There was chattering and jabbering and bellowing and growling,
And the sound of many waters and of many creatures howling
As the voices of creation all were lifted up together
In a universal chorus — " Did you ever see such weather? "

Beside the rail, despite the gale,
Old Noah took each ticket,
And registered each Beast and Bird
That passed inside the wicket.

And when at last they had made fast
As much as they could stow away,

The Manor Lord

Beside the landsman knelt a dame,
And slowly pushed the pages o'er;
Still by the hearth-fire's spending flame
She waited, while a hollow roar
Came from the chimney, and the breath
Of twice seven hounds upon the floor;
And, save the old man's labored moan,
The night had no sound more.

The fire flickered; with a start
The master hound upflung his head;
Sudden he whined, when with one spring
Each hunter bounded from his bed,—
And through rent blind and bolted door
All voiceless every creature fled;

Old Ships

Beside dim wharves, the battered ships are dreaming,
The worn ships, the torn ships, with many a draggled mast
The gray old ships are musing of those creaming
Waters that weltered in the days long past.

Maybe they dream of how the idle ocean,
A glittering dragon, with rippling scales of gold,
Would writhe and twist with sleepy crafty motion,
Suddenly frothing where the hushed bark rolled.

How still they sway and think upon the glories
Of shimmering lagoons that lit the tranquil morn!

Pleasd with thy Place

God hath the whole world perfect made, & free;
His parts to th'vse of all. Men then, that be
Parts of that all, must as the generall sway
Of that importeth, willingly obay
In euerie thing, without their powres to change.
He that (vnpleasd to hold his place) will range,
Can in no other be containd, thats fit:
And so resisting all, is crusht with it.
But he that knowing how diuine a frame
The whole world is, and of it all can name
(Without selfe flatterie) no part so diuine
As he himselfe, and therefore will confine

On the Cicada: In Prison

The Western Course: a cicada's voice singing;
A southern cap: longing for home intrudes.
How can I bear those shadows of black locks
That come here to face my " Song of White Hair " ?
Dew heavy on it, can fly no farther toward me;
The wind strong, its echoes easily lost.
No one believes in nobility and purity —
On my behalf who will explain what's in my heart?

Returning to My Garden Home: In Respectful Response to the Master of Hua-yang

Early on I wished to seek out famous mountains,
But the date awaited the completion of my son's and daughter's weddings.
Then, although these two events were over,
Quite aside from these, I still was of two minds.
But suddenly I heard the Dragon Chart of a new dynasty had come,
And even now I see its glorious radiance spread.
Assisting at the court, I head the Eight High Officers;
I've opened land, am paid with taxes from a thousand households.
My official capstrings never have been bathed in dew,

The Reed

ET ARUNDINEM IN DEXTERA EJUS

Beneath the Memnonian shadows of Memphis, it rose from the slime,
A reed of the river, self-hid, as though shunning the curse of its crime,
And it shook as it measured in whispers the lapses of tide and of time.

It shuddered, it stooped, and was dumb, when the kings of the earth passed along.
For what could this reed of the river in the race of the swift and the strong, —
Where the wolf met the bear and the panther, blood-bathed, at the banquets of wrong?

Ever the Same

King Solomon walked a thousand times
Forth of his garden-close;
And saw there spring no goodlier thing,
Be sure, than the same little rose.

Under the sun was nothing new,
Or now, I well suppose.
But what new thing could you find to sing
More rare than the same little rose?

Nothing is new; save I, save you,
And every new heart that grows,
On the same Earth met, that nurtures yet
Breath of the same little rose.

Golden

Beneath the evening gold,
above the golden corn,
the mill moves slow
its jagged sails.

Above the golden corn
hugely it shovels down
from sky to earth
the evening hoard.

The Gown

Beneath the curious gaze of all the dead,
To enter heaven (O my beads unsaid!
Sins unconfessed!)
Dressed
In a gown woven of your fealty!
Oh, poor and lone and frighted I may be,
— But every woman there will look at me.

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