Short Poems

But for its voice, the heron were
A line of snow, and nothing more.

"Within this awful volume lies
The mystery of mysteries:
Happiest they of human race,
To whom their God has given grace
To read, to fear, to hope, to pray,
To lift the latch, to force the way;
But better had they ne'er been born,
Who read to doubt, or read to scorn."

here lyes the noble warryor that never bludyed sword
her lyes the noble courtier that never kept his woord
Her lyes his excellency that governs all the state
her lyes the L of L that all the world did hate

His body is smashed
through the belly and chest
the head hangs lopsided
from one nail'd hand.

Emblem of agony
we have smashed you!

Take this news to the Lakedaimonians, friend,
That here we lie, who followed their command.

Woman, give him alms,
for in life there is nothing
to terrible as being
eyeless in Granada.

Crist and Sainte Marie swa on scamel me iledde
that Ic on þis erðe ne silde wið mine bare fote itredie.

In my boat that goes
Over manifold salt-ways
Towards the open sea
Faintly I hear
The cry of the first wild-goose.

Every hair is grey and grizzled, all the body withered up.
Beauty that was, is now no longer, the skin, Sahjo, is sifted ashes.
O Sahjo, every sense is wearied, and the body's strength wasted away.
The thirst of desire is not diminished, though the speech grows slowly faint.
Life's four stages all were wasted by neglect of Hari's Name.
The body abandoned, Jama's blow falls, the sinner goes to Jama's abode.
Entering the world what has he gained, tending the body and the belly?
Sahjo, the day has passed in business, and the night in sloth and pleasure.

Forget me not, but come, O King,
And find me softly slumbering
In dark and troubled dreams of Thee,
Then, with one waft of Thy bright wing,