Short Poems

Stanza, thou wert by love in its yearning fancy created—
Thrice thou fliest away, thrice to be with us again.

In the Hexameter hark, the mellifluous accents ascending,
In Pentameter hush with a melodious air.

Bounding along in a rush on its undulatory billows,
Man it carries away, skimming o'er ocean and air.

Throw the portals ajar to attract untutored allegiance;
Let the citizen out, free and untrammelled as air!

Like those boats which are returning
Across the open-sea of Ashiya
Where the waves run high,
I think that I too shall pass
Scatheless through (the storms of) life.

As for himself, with draggled gown,
Pure curate-like, he'll trudge the town,
To eat a meal with Punster base,
Or buffoon, call him if you please . . .

Hapless doom of woman happy in betrothing!
Beauty passes like a breath and love is lost in loathing:
Low, my lute; speak low, my lute, but say the world is nothing—
Low, lute, low!
Love will hover round the flowers when they first awaken;
Love will fly the fallen leaf, and not be overtaken;
Low, my lute! Oh low, my lute! we fade and are forsaken—
Low, dear lute, low!

Love , a thousand sweets distilling,
And with nectar bosoms filling,
Charm all eyes that none may find us,
Be above, before, behind us;
And, while we thy pleasures taste,
Enforce time itself to stay,
And by forelock hold him fast
Lest occasion slip away.

XXI

Ah, my Belovèd, fill the Cup that clears
TO-DAY of past Regrets and future Fears:
To-morrow!--Why, To-morrow I may be
Myself with Yesterday's Seven thousand Years.

Friends, the hour in which we live, and in which I speak to you, is a gloomy hour, but of such is the terrible price of the future. A revolution is a toll-gate.
Oh, the human race shall be delivered, uplifted and consoled! We affirm it on this barricade. Whence shall arise the shout of love, if it be not from the summit of sacrifice?
O my brothers, here is the place of junction between those who think and those who suffer; this barricade is made neither of paving-stones, nor of timbers, nor of iron; it is made of two mounds, a mound of ideas and a mound of sorrows.