Short Poems

How co'd Luke Smeaton weare a shoe, or boot,
Who two and thirty cornes had on a foot.

Snare, ten i'th'hundred calls his wife; and why?
Shee brings in much, by carnall usury.
He by extortion brings in three times more:
Say, who's the worst, th'exactor, or the whore?

With what a still, untroubled air,
The spring comes stealing up the way,
Like some young maiden coyly fair,
Too modest for the light of day.

There in the oozy grounds of the Hwun
They gather the sorrel.
That officer
Is elegant beyond measure.
He is elegant beyond measure
But, perhaps, he is not what the superintendent
of the ruler's carriages ought to be.

Tinker, Soldier, Rich man, Beggar man,
Tailor, Sailor, P oor man, Thief.

The syringe cloud of aspiration
Wh[ich] travelling o'er the ocean of our soul
Suddenly drops and sucks its waters up
[Can't?] do it surely, cannot, must not do
Merely as the idle schoolboy with a quill
Just for the fun of letting them fall again.

'TWAS all she could:—The gift that Nature gave,
The torrent of her tresses—did she spill
Before His feet: and lo, the troubled wave
Of passion heard His whisper, “Peace, be still!”

Farewell ye songs, long waifs without a home,
Some born of joy, of brooding sorrow some,
Here now I'll leave you, each within his nook,
Safe 'twixt the covers of this little book.

For many years he bent above his ground
To dig and drill and dutifully tend,
(While the observant robin hopped around),
Then earth drew down his body out of sight
To lie in equal patience day and night.
And now perhaps his patient soul has found
A heaven, half-familiar, like a friend,
Like Histon Chapel in astounding light.

Integrity and high repute are but water carried in a basket.
If some mighty man can grasp the wind within his fist,
Or if he can tether an elephant with a hair of his head,
Only if one be skilled in such feats as these will he be successful (in retaining integrity and high repute).