Short Poems

M YCILLA dyes her locks 'tis said,
But 'tis a foul aspersion;
She buys them black, they therefore need
No subsequent immersion.

Into the calm old lake
A frog with flying leap goes plop!
The peaceful hush to break.

Scottie Malottie, the king o' the Jews,
Sell't his wife for a pair o' shoes;
When the shoes began to wear
Scottie Malottie began to swear.

Shame and despair are mine from day to day;
But, being no bird, I cannot fly away.

The boat crossed the river day and night—
The usual people crossed, the strangers crossed, I loafed in the crowd:
Nothing uncommon ever happened, nothing to depress or excite the passengers:
Yet I always remembered that there were deckhands who went about their jobs without a fuss,
Yet I always remembered that there was an engineer in the engine room,
Yet I always remembered that there was a pilot in the pilot house.

Approach with reverence. There are those within
Whose dwelling-place is Heaven. Daughters of Jove,
From them flow all the decencies of life;
Without them nothing pleases, Virtue's self
Admired, not loved: and those on whom they smile,
Great though they be, and wise, and beautiful,
Shine forth with double lustre.

“Love me, sweet girl! thy love is all I ask!”
“Love thee?” she laughing cries; “I love thee not!”
“Why, then, I'll cease to love thee on the spot,
Since loving thee is such a thankless task!”

If the path of my dreams
left footprints,
The road outside your window, even of stone,
would have been worn down.
But no trace remains on dream paths,
and that makes me sad.

Tulip, tell me, what do you hold in your cup?
I hold in my cup the magic that swells the thirst of your soul, O Mother, when you look on the form of your child; the opiate that fills your dream, Mother, with the awe of the Unknown!
But, Tulip, tell me, why do you guard your magic beyond the wing of melody?
Because, ere Thought was, a kiss of Love did capture Death in the Seed of Life. That is why no melody of Life can hold all the magic in my cup, Mother; that is why Love cannot hold your child in Life alone!

'T IS midnight, and a starry shower
Weeps its bright tears o'er life and flower;
Sweet, silent, beautiful the night,
Sufficing for her own delight,
But other lights than sky and star.
From yonder casement gleam afar;
The lamp subdued to the heart's gloom
Of suffering, and of sorrow's room.