Short Poems

Fourth watch, the moon sinks, paper window calm.
I sober up from wine, lean head on hand,
read books for a while.
But pure imagination presses upon me—
I cannot stop it…
until ten stalks of cold blue-green
spread their shadows!

Bend after bend, the long embankment,
lined with fallen flowers;
trees upon the eastern mountain
linked with lovely homes.
In one of them, a man opens a window
to get a better view;
smiling, he points where breezes ripple
the petals on the water.

The clusters green refused my suit,
Nor might I taste the ripened fruit,
Now that your grapes are dry and sear,
Perchance my vows you'll deign to hear.

Of a tender wife have care,
And at times your efforts spare.
Use discretion in caresses;
Love too zealous oft distresses.

My Hely's soft fingers
The touch of them lingers,
But her nails they are stingers,
I still feel the smart.
Sure Cupid must teach ye
The way how to reach me,
Go soft, I beseech ye:
You're touching my heart.

How long, O cruel, shall I cry!
How long bewail my misery,
Already, see, the gray hairs show
And still no kindness you allow,
What Hecuba to Priam gave
Those are the favours I shall have.

Desired as Summer rain
To the offspring of the sun!
Rich, rich as Autumn grain
Ere the reaping has begun!
The freshness of the spring
As thy dower thou dost bring.
The seedtime & the harvest

We give to chivalry a separate age,
An age of fable, minstrel, & romance,
Of joust and joyance, ladies, knights, & lastly
Love the presiding deity of all:
Within whose temple shine the recorded deeds
Of those that dared & died, but soaring Fame
Has votaries no less numerous than Love's.

Weave in, weave in, my hardy life,
Weave yet a soldier strong and full for great campaigns to come,
Weave in red blood, weave sinews in like ropes, the senses, sight weave in,
Weave lasting sure, weave day and night the weft, the warp, incessant weave, tire not,
(We know not what the use O life, nor know the aim, the end, nor really aught we know,
But know the work, the need goes on and shall go on, the death-envelop'd march of peace as well as war goes on,)
For great campaigns of peace the same the wiry threads to weave,

T H ' Astrologers did all alike presage
My uncle's dying in extreme old age,
One only disagreed. But he was wise,
And spoke not till he heard the fun'ral cries.