Short Poems

As I went by a dyer's door
I met a lusty tawnymoor,
Tawny hands, and tawny face,
Tawny petticoats, silver lace.

Ah, you are cruel;
You ask too much;
Offered a hand, a finger-tip,
You must have a soul to clutch.

Back from the fields,
leaving himself just enough daylight
to wash his feet by

In the blasts of wind
chestnut burrs
skitter over the ground,
burr-headed village boys
hot in pursuit

Shame checks our first attempts; but then 'tis prov'd,
Sins first dislik'd, are after that belov'd.

Long Locks of late our Zelot Peason weares,
Not for to hide his high and mighty eares;
No, but because he wo'd not have it seen,
That Stubble stands, where once large eares have been.

“D RINKING ,” says Dick, “is sinful, without doubt;
For when the wine is in, the wit is out.”
But if the lack of wit makes man a toper,
Pray when, since he was born, has Dick been sober?

Under this stone, reader, survey
Dead Sir John Vanbrugh's house of clay.
Lie heavy on him, earth! for he
Laid many heavy loads on thee.

my hair is not yet dry—
in the distance hangs the shed skin

“LOVE is a fire,” she said. “Love is a fire,
Beware the madness of that wild desire!
I know, for I was young, and now am old”
“Oh, did you learn by what your elders told?”