Short Poems

The Virgin Marie was (as I have read)
The House of God, by Christ inhabited;
Into the which He enter'd: but, the Doore
Once shut, was never to be open'd more.

What here we hope for, we shall once inherit:
By Faith we all walk here, not by the Spirit.

Dread not the shackles: on with thine intent;
Good wits get more fame by their punishment.

She gave me tears,
A rain to wash the dust of years,
A silence for disharmony,
For jagged wounds a remedy,
Green windy down for fœtid towns,
For slums sweet-scented closes,
And for the thorn of her blest scorn
I gave her thorny roses.

Speak to the Wind and bid him stay,
Lest that within find out a way.

Call to the Sea to hush his wail,
That is failing which must not fail.

Cry to Time as he goes by,
That is dying which cannot die.

CLXIX

The loss is small to lose such one
That shrinketh for a slender nay,
And wit they lack that would make moan
Though all such pique were wiped away.

As a little fat man of Bombay
Was smoking one very hot day,
A bird called a snipe
Flew away with his pipe,
Which vexed the fat man of Bombay.

Scarce has the agued chill of Gallomania left us,
Than in a feverish heat blind Grecomania comes.
What did Greekism mean? Intelligence, easy Proportion!
Then, good sirs, I beg, let Grecomania lie!
Worthy the cause ye espouse; but pray pursue it in reason,
Lest to derision it lead, and to derision alone.

Nowhere can I throw away the bath water,
Insects singing sweetly all around.

Needles and pins, needles and pins,
When a man marries his trouble begins.