Justice, they say, is always blind.
That may be, but she hears,
For ever are her scales inclined
By woman's sighs and tears.

A woman's always in the wrong
Until she cries; and then
The weakest cause is straightway strong,
And there's no hope for men.

All night, the west wind blows over the capital;
we meet as northern snow fills the avenues.
Trudging through mud, our horses rear back;
entering the room, cold clouds float by in strips!
It's been a long road, ten thousand miles—
we're startled by white hair.
Above a thousand mountains, the view to the south,
completely cut off.
We grieve for our Han soldiers, with no winter clothes
to wear,
still grasping their spears in the night,
protecting us against the barbarians.

Her mouth, which a smile,
Devoid of all guile,
Half opens to view,
Is the bud of the rose
In the morning that blows,
Impearl'd with the dew.

More fragrant her breath
Than the flow'r-scented heath
At the dawning of day;
The hawthorn in bloom,
The lily's perfume,
Or the blossoms of may.

Sapphire , nor diamond, nor emerald,
Nor other precious stones past reckoning,
Topaz, nor pearl, nor ruby like a king,
Nor that most virtuous jewel, jasper call'd,
Nor amethyst, nor onyx, nor basalt,
Each counted for a very marvellous thing,
Is half so excellently gladdening
As is my lady's head uncoronall'd.
All beauty by her beauty is made dim;
Like to the stars she is for loftiness;
And with her voice she taketh away grief.
She is fairer than a bud, or than a leaf.
Christ have her well in keeping, of His grace,

Regret not me;
Beneath the sunny tree
I lie uncaring, slumbering peacefully.

Swift as the light
I flew my faery flight;
Ecstatically I moved, and feared no night.

I did not know
That heydays fade and go,
But deemed that what was would be always so.

I skipped at morn
Between the yellowing corn,
Thinking it good and glorious to be born.

I ran at eves
Among the piled-up sheaves,
Dreaming, "I grieve not, therefore nothing grieves."

Now soon will come
The apple, pear, and plum
And hinds will sing, and autumn insects hum.

I came not hither of my will
Or wisdom of my own;
That higher Power upholds me still,
And still must bear me on.

I knew not of this wondrous earth,
Nor dreamed what blessings lay
Beyond the gates of human birth
To glad my future way.

And what beyond this life may be
As little I divine,—
What love may wait to welcome me,
What fellowships be mine.

I know not what beyond may lie,
But look, in humble faith,
Into a larger life to die
And find new birth in death.

Upon his providence I lean,
As lean in faith I must;

“M USIC strain, where do you go,
When you hush and vanish so?”

“Why, I only take my rest
In a spot that's beauty-blest.”

“Music strain, may mortals too
Gird them up and go with you?”

“Nay, for I am all divine
And my country is not thine.”

“Music strain, will death reveal
All the bliss you make us feel?”

“Mortal, harken, love me well,
And together we may dwell.”

“Yes, but when, O subtle song!
For the waiting seems so long?”

“I will house thee safe and sure,
When thy love is perfect-pure.”

'Tis not a thousand Bullocks thies
Can please those Heav'nly Deities,
If the Vower don't express
In his Offering, Cheerfulness.

Thus said the rushing raven,
Unto his hungry mate:
‘Ho! gossip! for Bude Haven:
There be corpses six or eight.
Cawk! cawk! the crew and skipper
Are wallowing in the sea:
So there's a savoury supper
For my old dame and me.’

‘Cawk! gaffer! thou art dreaming,
The shore hath wreckers bold;
Would rend the yelling seamen,
From the clutching billows' hold.
Cawk! cawk! they'd bound for booty
Into the dragon's den:
And shout, for “death or duty,”
If the prey were drowning men.’

Loud laughed the listening surges,

Fancy (quoth he) farewell, whose badge I long did bear,
And in my hat full harebrainedly, thy flowers did I wear:
Too late I find (at last), thy fruits are nothing worth,
Thy blossoms fall and fade full fast, though bravery bring them forth.
By thee I hoped always, in deep delights to dwell,
But since I find thy fickleness, Fancy (quoth he) farewell.

Thou mad'st me live in love, which wisdom bids me hate,
Thou bleared'st mine eyes and mad'st me think, that faith was mine by fate:
By thee those bitter sweets, did please my taste alway,