English

Think you that I will drain the dregs of Love,
I who have quaffed the sweetness on its brink?
Now by the steadfast burning stars above,
Better to faint of thirst than thuswise drink.
What! shall we twain who saw love's glorious fires
Flame toward the sky and flush Heaven's self with light,
Crouch by the embers as the glow expires,
And huddle closer from mere dread of night?
No! cast love's goblet in oblivion's well,
Scatter love's ashes o'er the field of time!
Yet, ere we part, one kiss whereon to dwell

If Lincoln were to come again to earth,
—And view this land of plenty and yet know
That countless of its people knew but dearth,
—And in their hearts was bitterness and woe,
Those sorrowing eyes of his perhaps would wear
—An even more profound and troubled gaze,
And though he faltered he would not despair,
—But find new lamps to light the darkened ways.

For only he who once walked hand in hand
—With poverty can feel for those whose lot
It is to wear the stigma of the brand
—Of alms and doles that leaves an ugly blot—

I'm giving a party to-morrow at three,
And these are the people I'm asking to tea.

I'm sure you will know them—they're old friends, not new;
Bo-peep and Jack Horner and Little Boy Blue.

And Little Miss Muffet, and Jack and his Jill
(Please don't mention spiders—nor having a spill).

And Little Red Riding-Hood—Goldilocks too
(When sitting beside them, don't talk of the Zoo).

And sweet Cinderella, and also her Prince
(They're married—and happy they've lived ever since!)

And Polly, and Sukey; who happily settle

Fair, shining mountains of my pilgrimage,
And flow'ry vales, whose flow'rs were stars:
The days and nights of my first happy age;
An age without distaste and wars:
When I by thoughts ascend your sunny heads,
And mind those sacred midnight lights,
By which I walked, when curtained rooms and beds
Confined, or sealed up others' sights:
O then how bright
And quick a light
Doth brush my heart and scatter night;
Chasing that shade
Which my sins made,
While I so spring, as if I could not fade!

The young plum-tree
Of my house
Which in bygone years
I dug up by the roots and transplanted
Has at last bloomed with flowers.

Reader , stay, and read a truth:
Here lies Hopton, goodness, youth.
Drop a tear, and let it be
True as thou would'st wish for thee;
Shed one more, thou best of souls;
Those two tears shall be new poles:
By the first we'll sail and find
Those lost jewels of his mind;
By the latter we will swim
Back again, and sleep with him.

My lodging it is on the cold ground,
And very hard is my fare,
But that which troubles me most, is
The unkindness of my dear.
Yet still I cry, "O turn love,'
And I prithee love turn to me,
For thou art the man that I long for,
And alack, what remedy.

I'll crown thee with a garland of straw then,
And I'll marry thee with a rush ring,
My frozen hopes shall thaw then,
And merrily we will sing,
O turn to me my dear love,
And prithee love turn to me,
For thou art the man that alone canst
Procure my Liberty.

A VISION of a quiet place where lay
Late apple-blossoms scattered on the grass;
A carpet greener far than all the day
Our eyes had seen, alas!

A vision in the night of what shall be!
A rounded hillock and a day of peace,
A tender memory of a soul set free,
Earth greener where we cease.

Such was the quiet place whereon there lay
Pale apple-blossoms scattered on the grass;
A carpet greener far than all that day
Mine eyes had seen, alas!

Here lies Fred,
Who was alive and is dead:
Had it been his father,
I had much rather;
Had it been his brother,
Still better than another;
Had it been his sister,
No one would have missed her;
Had it been the whole generation,
So much the better for the nation:

But since 'tis only Fred,
Who was alive and is dead,
There's no more to be said.

Cast down your eyes, lift up your souls,
Dig spoons into the great sauce bowls.
Eat roast and fried and boiled and grilled,
Eat jams and jellies, warmed and chilled.
Eat quails cooked golden to the minute,
Eat nut-fed lamb with raisins in it.
Who would the warm stout capon blame,
Date-colored with judicious flame,
Because he could not sing or fly?
(He eats the better.) Nor can I …
The golds of man are manifold
But Allah made this kabab's gold;
He made this purslane salad sup
The soul of olives from a cup;