Short Poems

As glorious Pearle, the MARGARITE
At shine of Sunne doth showe:
So doth she looke, or very like,
To whom I Dutie owe.

My Wellington boots go
Thump-thump, thump-thump,
My leather shoes go
Pit-pat, pit-pat,
But my rubber sandals
Make no noise at all.

Dusk, it seems, has come
To the wood-cutter's track
That is near my hut:
The voices of mountain-men
Going down to the shed!

The dawn rolls up a golden haze
Veiling vermilion planes—
A flaming orb, ascending, floats
Above the clouded lanes.

my illness ebbs—
propped by a wrecked boat
I bathe in the sun

Taking to myself (as companion)
Only the showers
Of the godless month,
How sad to enter
Upon unknown mountain-paths!

I see the moon, and the moon sees me.
God bless the moon, and God bless me.

a flying beetle
its wings invisible
its speed plain to see

My Chaser of the dragon-flies at play,
O Son! my Son!
I wonder where the little feet to-day
Have run—have run?

The golden one is gone from the banquets;
She, beloved of Atimetus,
The swallow, the bright Homonoea:
Gone the dear chatterer;
Death succeeds Atimetus.