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!

FROM THE ZUNI AMERICAN INDIAN

Locust, locust, playing a flute,
 Locust, locust, playing a flute!
Away up on the pine-tree bough,
  Closely clinging,
 Playing a flute,
 Playing a flute!

Cowards fear to Die, but Courage stout,
Rather than Live in Snuff, will be put out.

Covered with snow, the herd, with none to guide,
Came to the stall adown the mountain side;
For, ah! Therimachus beneath an oak
Slept the long sleep, from which he ne'er awoke,
Sent to his slumber by the lightning's stroke.

The [weal] countless gold of a merry heart
The rubies & pearls of a loving eye
The [idle man] indolent never can bring to the mart
Nor the [cunning] secret hoard up in his treasury

On the Refusal of the University of Oxford to Subscribe to his Translation of Homer

Could Homer come himself, distress'd and poor,
And tune his harp at Rhedicina's door,
The rich old vixen would exclaim (I fear)
Begone! no tramper gets a farthing here.

The cool of bamboo invades my room;
moonlight from the fields fills the corners of the court;
dew gathers till it falls in drops;
a scattering of stars, now there, now gone
A firefly threading the darkness makes its own light;
birds at rest on the water call to each other;
all these lie within the shadow of the sword —
Powerless I grieve as the clear night passes.