Short Poems

Fowls in the frith,
Fishes in the flood,
And I must wax wod:
Much sorrow I walk with
For best of bone and blood.

There is no pleasure in hard names for flowers,
Nor in acquaintance with their inner shape.
To ravish Beauty with dividing powers
Is to let exquisite essences escape.
At feasts within a flowery paradise
Parvenu Wit must yield his precedence,
Honours therein are for the nose and eyes,
For that old Exquisite, discerning Sense.

Whose mind to justice sways a passionate heart,
He shall prevail in battle, law and art;
Not without storm, but steadied in restraint,
Heart and mind wed, fight thou, or plead, or paint!

I shall live on; the seeds of words have I
Sown broadcast, and I shall not wholly die.

Old Mother Goose
When she wanted to wander,
Would ride through the air
On a very fine gander.

Be not displeased, but pardon me,
If still my tears o'erflow;
My lover's gone, and my good name,
Which once I valued so,
I fear must also go.

Whene'er I treasure
Seek for thee, Fair Land of Reeds,
The richest jewel
Still I find, to meet thy needs:—
People bourgeoning with deeds.

If wealth is gone,—then something is gone!
Quick, make up thy mind,
And fresh wealth find.
If honour is gone,—then much is gone!
Seek glory to find,
And people then will alter their mind.
If courage is gone—then all is gone!
'Twere better that thou hadst never been born.

For though my rhyme be ragged,
Tattered and jagged,
Rudely rain-beaten,
Rusty and moth-eaten,
If ye take well therewith,
It hath in it some pith.

Is it body?
Is it spirit?
Is it I?
Is it you?
Is it the beloved strangeness