Short Poems

Two boats with nets lying off the sea-beach, quite still,
Ten fishermen waiting—they discover a thick school of mossbonkers—they drop the join'd seine-ends in the water,
The boats separate and row off, each on its rounding course to the beach, enclosing the mossbonkers,
The net is drawn in by a windlass by those who stop ashore,
Some of the fishermen lounge in their boats, others stand ankle-deep in the water, pois'd on strong legs,
The boats partly drawn up, the water slapping against them,

I know a bank whereon the wild thyme blows,
Where ox-lips and the nodding violet grows;
Quite overcanopied with lush woodbine,
With sweet musk roses, and with eglantine:
There sleeps Titania some time of the night,
Lull'd in these flowers with dances and delight;
And there the snake throws her enamell'd skin,
Weed wide enough to wrap a fairy in.

I am your spaniel; and, Demetrius,
The more you beat me, I will fawn on you:
Use me but as your spaniel, spurn me, strike me,
Neglect me, lose me; only give me leave,
Unworthy as I am, to follow you.
What worser place can I beg in your love
(And yet a place of high respect with me)
Than to be usèd as you use your dog?

Close cleaving unto Silence, into sound
She ventures as a timorous child from land,
Still glancing, at each wary step, around,
Lest suddenly she lose her sister's hand.

Why if it be so, for the dismal morn
Into his hollow'd palm should moan the blast;
And in grey bands the sun should lie still born;
And straight showers parallel should follow fast;
And, swarter still, the rolling pines should cast
Their heads together in a stormy blot.

Even then, an aweful light,
Not of this world, thro' chink and crevice (bright
With brightness as of burning fire that turns
Whatever thing the burning of it burns
Into its sifted elemental worth:
Substance to spirit, ashes unto earth)
Smote all the inner darkness where she stood.

And after all these things, at the late end
Of a long life, she died.

Then priests to send
Pilgrims to deck her tomb made haste. They came
Bare-footed, chanting hymns unto her name,
And made a noise of praise above her bones,
Which waked her spirit in the grave.

I HAVE sought Love, and sought him everywhere;
Once in a wood I saw his gleaming hair
Flash from afar, but drawing nearer found
A startled satyr leaping from his lair.

My memory is short, and braine is dry.
My Almond-tree (gray haires) doth flourish now,
And back, once straight, begins apace to bow.
My grinders now are few, my sight doth faile
My skin is wrinkled, and my cheeks are pale.
No more rejoyce, at musickes pleasant noyse.