Short Poems

Loose the knots of the heart; never think on thy fate:
No Euclid has yet disentangled that snarl.

The world is a bride superbly dressed;—
Who weds her for dowry must pay his soul.

'Tis writ on Paradise's gate,
“Wo to the dupe that yields to Fate!”

The understanding's copper coin
Counts not with the gold of love.

Alas! till now I had not known
My guide and Fortune's guide are one.

See how the roses burn!
Bring wine to quench the fire!
Alas! the flames come up with us,—
We perish with desire.

I batter the wheel of heaven
When it rolls not rightly by;
I am not one of the snivellers
Who fall thereon and die.

Oft have I said, I say it once more,
I, a wanderer, do not stray from myself.
I am a kind of parrot; the mirror is holden to me;
What the Eternal says, I stammering say again.
Give me what you will; I eat thistles as roses,
And according to my food I grow and I give.
Scorn me not, but know I have the pearl,
And am only seeking one to receive it.

Science puffs up, sayes Gut, when either Pease
Make him thus swell, or windy Cabbages.

When out of bed my Love doth spring,
'Tis but as day a kindling:
But when She's up and fully drest,
'Tis then broad Day throughout the East.