Short Poems

The grey-wing'd Evening flits adown the dale,
And shades dissolve in undetermin'd shade:
The mystic music of the scented gale
Sings the dead day: and all the objects fade,
Making their separate hues one blended whole …
Chapel and Church and Field—whatever made
Glorious the day—richly together roll
In single wealth: Sedbergh reveals her soul.

Mirror'd light the moon doth shed,
And the sun's remembered:
For she promises the gloom
Day arising from her tomb.
Alas! no Hope doth lighten so
The starless midnight of my woe!

‘Stern nurse of men’ and Nature's mother, I:
Homeward to sleep
On my hilly bosom, Thunder and Tempest fly,
And Clouds that weep!

A cat sat quaintly by the fire
And watched the burning coals
And watched the little flames aspire
Like small decrepit souls.
Queer little fire with coals so fat
And crooked flames that rise,
No queerer than the little cat
With fire in its eyes.

You, my statue, why do you torment me?
Everything is as clear
as though I were my yesterday, my today, my tomorrow.
You have the power and the mystery,
so let me enjoy for a while
what little trifles you have left me.

As I was going to sell my eggs,
I met a man with bandy legs;
Bandy legs and crooked toes,
I tripped up his heels and he fell on his nose.

We took rest on a mountain pass
Even above the soaring lark.

To-night the summer moon is at its best. . . .
Therefore we thank the clouds that sometimes come
To give our necks a bit of rest.

Tall people, short people,
Thin people, fat,
Lady so dainty
Wearing a hat,
Straight people, dumpy people,
Man dressed in brown;
Baby in a buggy—
These make a town.

I loved my friend.
He went away from me.
There's nothing more to say.
The poem ends,
Soft as it began,—
I loved my friend.