Short Poems

There was an Old Man of Quebec,
A beetle ran over his neck;
But he cried, " With a needle, I'll slay you, O beetle! "
That angry Old Man of Quebec.

Thatched hut among the pines, door open near a cliff;
under the cliff, rare flowers surround the terrace.
Who knocks on the bramble gate,
and wakes me from my dream of cranes?
— My friend has come to visit me
through a thousand miles of moonlight.

The temples of Mount T'ai greeted the sun in the east;
the source of the Yellow River spoke with heaven in the west.
Late in his reign, his noble plans ran out
and quack wizards took the place of immortals.

There are dealers in pictures named Agnew
Whose soft soap would make an old rag new:
The Father of Lies
With his tail to his eyes
Cries--"Go to it, Tom Agnew, Bill Agnew!'

That thou mayst injure no man, dove-like be,
And serpent-like, that none may injure thee!

Though winds blow,
coloring the
autumn bush clover,
my heart is no grass or leaf
that changes hue

Swirls of dust,
and in the midst, unblinking,

Sweet little bird in russet coat,
The livery of the closing year,
I love thy lonely plaintive note
And tiny whispering song to hear,
While on the stile or garden seat
I sit to watch the falling leaves,
The song thy little joys repeat
My loneliness relieves.

That man's a fool who tries by art and skill
To stem the torrent of a woman's will:
For if she will, she will; you may depend on't—
And if she won't, she won't—and there's an end on't.

That all things should be mine;
This makes his Bounty most Divine.
But that they all more Rich should be,
And far more Brightly shine,
As usd by Me:
It ravisheth my Soul to see the End,
To which this Work so Wonderfull doth tend.