Short Poems

O peace is a white bird,
And Beauty is a castled cloud,
And Love is a fierce fire that loves to be made kind;

And I have climbed the castled cloud,
And I have caged the fierce fire,
But the white bird, the white bird—her I cannot bind!

Bits of song—what else?
I, a rider of the stream,
Lone between the clouds.

We fight for Peace—not for Revenge or Hate,
Forgetful of the names of Fame or Fate—
Winning by war the Time when wars shall cease.
Soldiers of Concord! Sentinels of Peace!

Oh! Freedom, oh! Freedom,
Oh! Freedom, over me;
And before I'll be a slave
I'll be buried in my grave,
And go home to my God

You never seed the like
How the Yankees flew from Pike,
When they hear-ed Jackson May was a-comin'.

With one hundred and fifty men
To put 'em in a pen,
And land 'em on the other side of Jordan.

Yo ho my laddies, so hale, brave my laddies, heave to!
It's rum for a sailor, but soldiers crave ale,
Yo ho! my laddies, yo ho!

A bottle of rum and a mug of white ale,
Yo ho! my laddies, yo ho!
Of merrie old England I'll tell you a tale,
Yo ho! my laddies, yo ho!

Moon of the autumn sky!
Sentinel, silver and still!
Where are our dear ones who die?
Is it well? is it ill?

Fear no more the wingèd boy,
He has spent on me his quiver,
Tortures me in cruel joy,
Burns my heart nor leaves me ever,
Cast aside his plumage vain,
Never more to fly again.

To sea those pirate craft again have gone,
Euphro and Thaïs and Boïdion.
Such harpies once as vexed King Diomede,
Stripping their victims naked in their greed.
Agis they've wrecked and Cleophon as well,
Antagoras of them a tale can tell.
Fly then Love's corsairs, fly these frigates bold,
More deadly they than Siren maids of old.

Cupid, when you shoot your darts,
Aim alike at both our hearts.
Gods must never partial be,
Else they lose divinity.