Short Poems

I want to see him
but even in dreams I don't dare—
morning after morning
I'm more ashamed to see
how love has changed my looks

If meat the Gods give, I the steame
High-towring wil devote to them:
Whose casic natures like it well,
If we the roste have, they the smell.

He that is hurt seeks help: sin is the wound;
The salve for this i'th Eucharist is found.

The wind waves the lotuses in the scented palace by the water.
In the Gusu Tower, the King of Wu is carousing
Xi Shi, flushed with wine, dances coy and unresisting
By the east window, laughing, she leans on a couch of white jade.

Our nightingale, the clock,
our lark,
perched on the mantel,
sings so steadily:
O bird of prey!

The Devil is dead and laid in his shroud:
Sprinkle him with holy water,—
Now he knoweth reconciliation.
Before he died he was the cause of not a little trouble:
Now he is quieter than December snow-flakes.
Think kindly of him, for he did no evil
He was ashamed of;
And he was at least always honest with God.

Little Jack Horner
Sat in the corner,
Eating a Christmas pie;
He put in his thumb,
And pulled out a plum,
And said, What a good boy am I!

In matters of commerce the fault of the Dutch
Is offering too little and asking too much.
The French are with equal advantage content,
So we clap on Dutch bottoms just 20 per cent.
20 per cent--20 per cent,
Vous frapperez Falck avec 20 per cent.

Ah! the cherry-blossoms
Bring back many memories.

And a certaine Priest comming that way
looked on him and passed by.

Why dost Thou wound my wounds, O Thou that passest by
Handling & turning them with an unwounded eye?
The calm that cools thine eye does shipwrack mine, for O!
Vnmov'd to see one wretched, is to make him so.