Short Poems

When the last fight is lost, the last sword broken;
The last call sounded, the last order spoken;
When from the field where braver hearts lie sleeping,
Faint, and athirst, and blinded, I come creeping,
With not one waving shred of palm to bring you,
With not one splendid battle-song to sing you,
O Love, in my dishonor and defeat,
Your measureless compassion will be sweet.

Waken not Amor from sleep! The beauteous urchin still slumbers;
Go, and complete thou the task, that to the day is assign'd!
Thus doth the prudent mother with care turn time to her profit,
While her babe is asleep, for 'twill awake but too soon.

The Colours of Expression are too faint,
Let Thought describe what Thought alone can paint:
Think what the Christian, Preacher, Friend should be,
You've then his Character: for such was He.

O Lord, I clasp thy feet, even now be Thou my guard.
Lord of Dulam, keep safe the honour of my habit.

Dulam, with clasped hands prays, give ear to my petition.
Reveal to me, dear friend, the fashion of the Lord.

For many a one Thou carest, King Rama the bridegroom's crown.
To thy feet clings Dulam, his faith is set on Thee.

Sleep came like rose petals falling on my pillow,
And then a wind of feet
Blew over me, whirling the petals of my slumber
Before it down the street.

Flocks of birds have flown high and away;
A solitary drift of cloud, too, has gone, wandering on.
And I sit alone with the Ching-ting Peak, towering beyond.
We never grow tired of each other, the mountain and I.

There was an Old Person of Bray,
Who sang through the whole of the day
To his ducks and his pigs, whom he fed upon figs,
That valuable Person of Bray.

There was a Young Lady of Clare,
Who was sadly pursued by a bear;
When she found she was tired, she abruptly expired,
That unfortunate Lady of Clare.

When these, and such, their voices have employed;
What place is for my testimony void?
Or, to so many, and so broad seals had,
What can one witness, and a weak one, add
To such a work, as could not need theirs? Yet
If praises, when they are full, heaping admit,
My suffrage brings thee all increase, to crown
Thy Richard, raised in song, past pulling down.

Your friendship oft has made my heart to ache:
Do be my enemy for friendship's sake.