Short Poems

Quiescent, a person sits heart and soul,
Thinking of daytime and Amy Lowell.

A couple came walking along the street;
Neither of them had ever met.

Q:dwo
we know of anything which can
be as dull as one englishman

All we have willed or hoped or dreamed of good shall exist;
Not its semblance, but itself; no beauty, nor good, nor power
Whose voice has gone forth, but each survives for the melodist
When eternity affirms the conception of an hour.
The high that proved too high, the heroic for earth too hard,
The passion that left the ground to lose itself in the sky,
Are music sent up to God by the lover and the bard;
Enough that he heard it once: we shall hear it by and by.

O Man, forgive thy mortal foe,
Nor ever strike him blow for blow;
For all the souls on earth that live
To be forgiven must forgive.
Forgive him seventy times and seven:
For all the blessed souls in Heaven
Are both forgivers and forgiven!

Dearest Friend when I shall be
Absent from my selfe and thee,
Something here thy thoughts may find
To preserve me in thy mind;
Oh be constant still and prove
Friendship's longer liv'd then love.

PROFESSOR R OBINSON each summer beats
The fishing record of the world—such feats
As one would hardly credit from a lesser
Person than a history professor.

Proconsul of Bithynia,
Who loved to turn the night to day,
Yet for your ease had more to show
Than others for their push and go.
Teach us to save the Spirit's expense,
And win to Fame through indolence.

Pretty wantons, sweetly sing
In honour of the smiling spring.
Look how the light-winged chirping choir
With nimble skips the spring admire.
But O, hark how the birds sing, O mark that note,
Jug, jug, tereu, tereu,
O prett'ly warbled from a sweet sweet throat.

Poor old Robinson Crusoe!
Poor old Robinson Crusoe!
He made him a coat,
Of an old nanny goat,
What a clever fellow to do so!
With a ring a ting tang,
And a ring a ting tang,
Poor old Robinson Crusoe!

Poor is the life that misses
The lover's greatest treasure,
Innumerable kisses,
Which end in endless pleasure.
Oh, then, if this be so,
Shall I a virgin die? Fie no!