Short Poems

A REED was I:—my thin and fruitless shape
No fig put forth, no apple, not a grape:
When, lo! one took me, polished me, gave lips
Of slender point, and made me take small sips
Of some strange, black, and Heliconian wine;
Since when, as though I were a thing divine,
Drink puts all speech in this dumb mouth of mine.

Look round: You see a little supper room;
But from my window, lo! great Caesar's tomb!
And the great dead themselves, with jovial breath
Bid you be merry and remember death.

I crave not Amalthæa's horn;
O'er Arganthonius' domain
Long weary years I'd scorn to reign,
And be with cares of kingcraft worn.
One little hour of wine-bred bliss
To me indeed much better is.

As his yarn Aseaman spins
With a twinkle in his eye,
Weaving wonders from the past
While his ship heaves o'er the brine;
So the memories that are mine
Tell their tale beside the mast
Of Life's bark, that bellies by
O'er Time's sea of songs and sins.

Say, my lovely star! O say,
Art thou gloomy—art thou gay?

Art thou gloomy—O be bright—
Pour on me thy streams of light!

Pour thy streams of light on me,
And awaken memory.

One thousand four hundred, no less and no more,
Was the date of the rising of Owen Glendower;
Till fifteen were added with courage ne'er cold
Liv'd Owen, though latterly Owen was old.

Of our love
How can any man know?
The fine lawn
Pillow alone,
If (anything) knows, can know.

His namesake, born of Jewish breeder,
Knew “from the Hyssop to the Cedar;”
But he, unlike the Jewish leader,
Scarce knew the Hyssop from the Cedar.

Nature is pantomime; some force bestirs
The antic struggles of her characters,
And semblances of life imparts to each,
But no true motion and no gift of speech.
Some mask unknown stands at the stage's wings
And for each mimic actor speaks or sings,
While in the galleries and stalls we sit
But do not rightly catch one word of it.

You have edited a thousand pages of palm-leaf manuscripts;
for years now, your mind has been devoted
to the Buddhist canon.
I ask you the true meaning
of Bodhidharma's trip to China:
no written word has ever explained this mystery.