Short Poems

The hour is big with sooth and sign, with errant men at war,
While blood of alien, friend, and foe imbues the land afar,
And we, with sable faces pent, move with the vanguard line,
Shod with a faith that Springtime keeps, and all the stars opine.

All deep there stirs the throb of Spring,
Its vital pulse I'm answering,
Swift to its dominant I merge,
One with its undulating surge;
My heart awakes to virile tone
And breaks—unanswered, and alone.

As the day for the dew, as the earth
For the rain-cloud above her.
As parched lands in the season of dearth
For the summer's green cover,
So I yearn for thy wine,—O prepare
Me the cup and bring hither,
That my earth may be watered and fair
And my green leaves not wither.

Cool is the water in the cup I pass
For thy cool lips' refreshment; but alas,
This, where my lips have lingered after thine,
Is no cool water but a burning wine.

These sweet-lipped women rule the world:
For, howe'er men may teach,
Their beauty thrills a million souls
Man's wisdom cannot reach.

May is here, now May is here,
May is here and all aflower,
May with its roses laden,
And many a fair maiden,
May is here and all aflower;
May with its wealth of flowers,
And with love's soft hours,
May is here and all aflower.

Though the Christmas bells are muffled,
And the carols will not sing,
Still to faith the vision widens,
And the torsos challenge fling:
Slow the cosmic thought emerges,
Long the agonies of birth,
But the Master's purpose holdeth,—
Peace, Good-Will, the Christ on Earth!

Your heart, an angel out of reach,
Escapes the world's control,
Life cannot trouble with its speech
The trances of your soul.

If nought but wordes in women to be founde,
Then what are they, men, women, or Monsters,
That yeelde lyke fruite? or else a hollowe sounde,
Which substance none, but ayre forth vtters.
By deedes and not by words, men praise obtayne,
Monsters, no men, whose deedes their words doe stayne.

There is one story
that Virtue has her dwelling place above rock walls hard to climb
with a grave chorus of light-footed nymphs attendant about her,
and she is not to be looked upon by the eyes of every mortal,
only by one who with sweat, with clenched concentration
and courage, climbs to the peak.