Short Poems

As the shy Hind, the soft-eyed gentle Brute,
Now moves, now stops, approaching by degrees
At length emerges from the shelt'ring Trees,
Lur'd by her Hunter with the shepherd's Flute
Whose music travelling on the twilight Breeze,
When all beside was mute,
She oft had heard unharm'd and ever loves to hear,
She, fearful Beast! but that no sound of Fear.

Great is mine honour, tho' my tomb be small;
No marble pile, no pyramid you see.
Twice I beheld Tarentum's festival,
And lived a long life through from sorrow free;
Five sons, five daughters, Juno granted me,
And all survived to hear my latest breath.
High glory seldom won I gained—for he
I loved was mine, I his alone till death.

Seven wives you've had and all of them lie buried in your field;
I don't suppose that any land could boast more rich a yield.

Under the plum-blossoms are nightingales;
But the sea is hidden in an egg-white mist,
And they are silent.

On the floor of the empty palanquin
The plum-petals constantly increase.

Wishing to try retirement, I requested release from duty;
my white robes have not been stained by a single speck of dust.
You gentlemen have plenty of real feeling:
coming to see off, not an official,
but a retired man of leisure!

This man of leisure for twenty years
has been a robber of empty reputation:
dare I claim that in the past
I had no real desire for this life?
For “patching His Majesty's robe” and
“inscribing on the bell” there are many worthy officials:
such glory was not intended for a mere student like me!

With whom can I share
the feelings wrought in my heart
by the autumn sky?

In the reeds, the evening wind;
in the clouds, wild geese calling.

I WAS told that my Polla had taken a fancy
To intimate talks all alone with a Nancy.
I ventured upon them one evening to call,
And I found that he was not a Nancy at all.

Her father, he was Battling Fred,
Her mother Slap-dash Moll,
So it's no wonder now you're wed
You've found your match in Poll.
A knock-out's sure for you, my boy,
Each time at home you meet her;
You'ld best a fancy-man employ
To beat your husband-beater.