If thou consider poetry in its nature is no harm,
The only fault in it is that some make foolish verses.
He who makes verses without rhythm and without measure.
No poet is he, his are howlings of the dogs.
Persian poetry have I learnt, I have the taste for all;
Pushtoo poetry I prefer, each one thinks his own the best.
In measure, in meaning, in nicety, in metaphor,
Have I the Pushtoo language made to rival with the Persian.
The Pushtoo tongue is difficult, its measures hard to find;
Few are they that have come to me, though great has been my labour.

Through the leaves of my Tulip tree,
Through the dim, green leaves
Faded by Summer,
Glistens the sky of Autumn;
My thoughts like the leaves are dim,
Faded by memories more passionate
Than the burning of Summer.
Frost will brighten the faded leaves,
But my thoughts will not glow again
Under the frosty touch of age:
Only when Death draws near,
Ardent and luminous,
Will they quicken, —
Death that I imagine to be like April sunrise
Through leaves.

But for my father's angry talking,
I'd frankly own that I was walking
With one — whom he could not discover —
Frown he or not — it was my lover.

And if my father would not scold me,
I'd tell him what my lover told me;
And what he gave — a secret this is —
Scold he or not — 'twas love's sweet kisses.

And if my father would not wonder
I'd tear the secret's veil asunder —
Wonder or not — my lover made me
A sweet and solemn vow to wed me.

H E vow'd — sincere and eager-hearted —
E'en while he kiss'd me as we parted,

To singe as was of old, is but a scorne,
The king's chaffe is better than others' corne;
Kelso can tell his chaffe away did fly,
Yet had no wind: Benedicite!
The corne unmoued on Duns-Law strong did shine,
Lesley, could thou haue shorne, it might beene thyne.

(Snow in Autumn)

Rose of November,
It was only yesterday that I saw you quivering
Warm with sunshine
Under the last, wild honey bee;—
Now to your freezing heart
Cling spectral snow-moths.
Yet you should die proudly,
Rose of November,
For you have known more than all the roses of June
Through immemorial summers.

Gaea, Mother Gaea, now at last,
Wearied with too much seeking, here I cast
My soul, my heart, my body down on thee!
Dust of thy dust, canst thou not mother me?

Not as an infant weeping do I come;
These tears are tears of battle; like a drum
Struck by wild fighting hands my temples throb;
Sob of the breathless swordsman is my sob,
Cry of the charging spearman is my cry!

O Mother, not as one who craves to die
I fall upon thee panting. Fierce as hate,
Strong as a tiger fighting for his mate,

Lord, is it Thou who knockest at my door?
I made it fast and 't will not open more;
Barred it so tight I scarce can hear Thy knock,
And am too feeble now to turn the lock,
Clogged with my folly and my grievous sin:
Put forth Thy might, O Lord, and burst it in.

They bade me come to the House of Prayer,
They said I should find my Saviour there:
I was wicked enough, God wot, at best,
And weary enough to covet rest.

I paused at the door with a timid knock:
The People within were a silken flock —
By their scowls of pride it was plain to see
Salvation was not for the likes of me.

The Bishop was there in his lace and lawn,
And the cassocked priest, — I saw him yawn, —
The rich and great and virtuous too,
Stood smug and contented each in his pew.

The music was grand, — the service fine,

Upon the turkish boundary,
A watchman hath one child alone,
O God! O God! what bliss 'twould be,
If I could call that girl mine own.

I SENT a letter to the maid,
And sent a ring — " The ring is thine;
So give me, sweet, thy love, " I said,
" And leave thy father's house for mine. "

The letter reach'd the maid, she ran,
And placed it in her father's hand:
" Read, O my father! if thou can,

The black, iced sail of night thrums, thrums...
But the wind is weakening,
Now it falls away,
Drifting slowly down upon the Southern waste:
In the dark glass of my window
I see my hearth fire leaping among snowy zig-zags
Of winter boughs.
Oh, memories of youth,
Thus you flame among the snows of age
Without melting them!