Short Poems

See where my Love a-maying goes,
With sweet dame Flora sporting!
She most alone with nightingales
In woods delights consorting.
Turn again, my dearest!
The pleasant'st air 's in meadows:
Else by the rivers let us breathe,
And kiss amongst the willows.

See on one hand
He drops his bright roots in the water'd sward,
And rosing part, on part dispenses green;
But with his other foot three miles beyond
He rises from the flocks of villages
That bead the plain; did ever Havering church-tower
Breathe in such ether? or the Quickly elms
Mask'd with such violet disallow their green?

See here an easie Feast that knowes no wound,
That under Hungers Teeth will needs be sound:
A subtle Harvest of unbounded bread,
What would ye more? Here food it selfe is fed.

See a pin and pick it up,
All the day you'll have good luck;
See a pin and let it lay,
Bad luck you will have all day.

Seal up the book, all vision's at an end,
For who durst now to poetry pretend?
Since Pope is dead, it must be sure confessed
The Muse's sacred inspiration's ceased;
And we may only what is writ rehearse:
His works are the apocalypse of verse.

Scarce do I pass a day but that I hear
Some one or other's dead, and to my ear
Methinks it is no news. But oh! did I
Think deeply on it, what it is to die,
My pulses all would beat, I should not be
Drowned in this deluge of security.

Says Tweed to Till,
What gars ye rin sae still?
Says Till to Tweed,
Though ye rin wi' speed
And I rin slaw,
For ae man that ye droun

Perchance it is the same lark which sings sweetly,
Every morn in the sky above my roof.

Saint Elene, I thee pray
To helpe me at my laste day
To sette the crosse and His passione
Betwix my sinfull soule and dome,
Now and in the houre of my dede,
And bring my soule to requied.

Said Opie Read to E. P. Roe,
" How do you like Gaboriau? "
" I like him very much indeed, "
Said E. P. Roe to Opie Read.