Short Poems

Dark an' stormy may come de wedder;
I jines dis he-male an' dis she-male togedder.
Let none, but Him dat makes de thunder,
Put dis he-male an' dis she-male asunder.
I darfore 'nounce you bofe de same.
Be good, go 'long, an' keep up yo' name.
De broomstick's jumped, de worl's not wide.
She's now yo' own. Salute yo' bride!

The dandelion stares
In the yellow sunlight.
How very still it is!
When it is old and grey,
I blow its white hair away,
And leave it with a bald head.

D AMIS , an author cold and weak,
— Thinks as a critic he's divine;
Likely enough; we often make
— Good vinegar of sorry wine.

Dainty fine bird, that art encagid there,
Alas, how like thine and my fortunes are.
Both prisoners be, and both singing thus
Strive to please her, that hath imprisoned us.
Only thus we differ, thou and I,
Thou liv'st singing, but I sing and die.

Daffadowndilly
Has come up to town,
In a yellow petticoat
And a green gown.

Cushy cow, bonny, let down thy milk,
And I will give thee a gown of silk,
A gown of silk and a silver tee
If thou wilt let down thy milk to me.

Curly locks, Curly locks,
Wilt thou be mine?
Thou shalt not wash dishes
Nor yet feed the swine;
But sit on a cushion
And sew a fine seam,
And feed upon strawberries,
Sugar and cream.

Crushed by the waves upon the crag was I,
Who still must hear these waves among the dead,
Breaking and brawling on the promontory,
Sleepless; and sleepless is my weary head!
For me did strangers bury on the coast
Within the hateful hearing of the deep,
Nor Death, that lulleth all can lull my ghost.
One sleepless soul among the souls that sleep!

Crowd back the hills and give me room,
Nor goad me with the sense of things;
Earth cramps me like a narrow tomb,
Your sunlight is too dense for wings;
Away with all horizon bars;
Push back the mountains and the stars.

Cricket , chirring in the autumn twilight,
Little kinsman,
I, like you, the unknown path must follow
Into darkness, —
One day into darkness.
Would I might, with your ecstatic buoyance,
Fare forth singing!