Short Poems

I pick up your scroll of poems, read in front of the lamp;
poems ended, the lamp gutters, sky not yet light.
My eyes hurt, I put out the lamp, go on sitting in the dark:
the sound of waves blown by head winds, sloshing against the boat.

I never cared for Life: Life cared for me,
And hence I owed it some fidelity.
It now says, " Cease; at length thou hast learnt to grind
Sufficient toll for an unwilling mind,
And I dismiss thee — not without regard
That thou didst ask no ill-advised reward,
Nor sought in me much more than thou couldst find."

I shot a rocket in the air,
It fell to earth, I knew not where
Until next day, with rage profound,
The man it fell on came around.
In less time than it takes to tell,
He showed me where that rocket fell;
And now I do not greatly care
To shoot more rockets in the air.

*****I shoot the Hippopotamus

With bullets made of platinum,
Because if I use leaden ones
his hide is sure to flatten 'em.

I shall say what inordinat love is:
The furiosite and wodness of minde,
A instinguible brenning fawting blis,
A gret hungre, insaciat to finde,
A dowcet ille, a ivell swetness blinde,
A right wonderfulle, sugred, swete errour,
Withoute labour rest, contrary to kinde,
Or withoute quiete to have huge labour.

I SEE Thee in the distant blue;
But in the Violet's dell of dew,
Behold, I breathe and touch Thee too.

I see my plaint, with open ears
Is heard, alas, and laughing eyes;
I see that scorn beholds my tears,
And all the harm hap can devise;
I see my life away so wears
That I myself myself despise;
And most of all wherewith I strive
Is that I see myself alive.

I saw his round mouth's crimson deepen as it fell,
Like a Sun, in his last deep hour;
Watched the magnificent recession of farewell,
Clouding, half gleam, half glower,
And a last splendour burn the heavens of his cheek.
And in his eyes
The cold stars lighting, very old and bleak,
In different skies.

I RECOLLECT a nurse call'd Ann,
Who carried me about the grass,
And one fine day a fine young man
Came up, and kiss'd the pretty lass.
She did not make the least objection!
Thinks I, " Aha!
When I can talk I'll tell Mamma"
— And that's my earliest recollection.

I often sit and wish that I
Could be a kite up in the sky,
And ride upon the breeze and go
Whichever way I chanced to blow.