Short Poems

If a task is once begun
Never leave it till it's done.
Be the labor great or small,
Do it well or not at all.

“By God, my stableistics,
In spite of Russell's mystics,
Prove that Free Trade, by billions,
In Ireland's starving millions,
And will starve millions there yet;
As my man, Ben, shall swear yet.”

Sun lengthens; streams, hills glorious;
Spring-wind breathes; flowers, grass fragrant.

Vapour rises from wet mud, young swallows fly;
Warmth radiates from soft sand, duck, drake sleep.

Lord, my first fruits present themselves to thee;
Yet not mine neither: for from thee they came,
And must return. Accept of them and me,
And make us strive, who shall sing best thy name.
Turn their eyes hither, who shall make a gain:
Theirs, who shall hurt themselves or me, refrain.

I say so many things,
I cannot understand your silence;
I give so much,
I cannot understand your always taking;
I change myself so willingly to please you,
I cannot understand
That you have never thought of changing.

Says Marmontel, The secret's mine
Of Racine's art-of-verse divine.
To do thee justice, Marmontel,
Never was secret kept so well.

They knew Him when He broke the bread:
Was't by the accompanying word He said
Which faith, though faltering, understands,
Or wounded beauty of His hands?

R OTHA , how in numbers light,
Ought I to express thee?
Take my meaning in its flight—
Haste imports not always slight—
And believe, I bless thee.

Man in his sorrow sees more clear
Through the crystal of one little tear,
Than if the whole air, as a spy-glass, should
Draw Heaven into nearest neighborhood

Thou art not proud because thou art so beautiful.
'Tis falsely said. Thou art but glad of heart
To feel thy glorious beauty is a part
Of all the beauty that is anywhere,
On land or sea or in the gleaming air;
Such gladness is less proud than dutiful.