Short Poems

Our eyeless bark sails free
Tho' rough with boom & spar
—Andes, Alp or Himmalee,—
Strikes never moon or star

Bacchus, let me drink no more;
Wild are Seas, that want a shore.
When our drinking has no stint,
There is no one pleasure in't.
I have drank up for to please
Thee, that great cup Hercules:
Urge no more; and there shall be
Daffadills g'en up to Thee.

Tit, tat, toe,
My first go,
Three jolly butcher boys
All in a row;
Stick one up, stick one down,
Stick one in the old man's crown.

The fishermen draw their nets
From the great pool of the T'an River.
They have hired a boat
And come here to fish by the reflected light
Of the sunken sun.

A beautiful place is the town of Lo-yang:
The big streets are full of spring light!
The lads go driving with harps in their hands:
The mulberry girls go out to the fields with their baskets.
Golden whips glint at the horses' flanks,
Gauze sleeves brush the green boughs.
Racing dawn, the carriages come home—
And the girls with their high baskets full of fruit.

I' VE lost my horse, my mistress, and my wife!
O woeful day! O fate without remorse!
Kate was, I own, the torment of my life;
And Fan the very devil of a wife;
But then, my horse!

Es tanzt ein Bibabutzemann
in unserem Haus herum, fidebum.
Er rüttelt sich; er schüttelt sich,
er wirft sein Säcklein hinter sich.
Es tanzt ein Bibabutzemann
in unserem Haus herum.

From the temple, deep in its tender bamboos,
Comes the low sound of an evening bell,
While the hat of a pilgrim carries the sunset
Farther and farther down the green mountain.

Trust in me, trust in me, I am able to impart Strength according
to your day, As you journey onward. I'll sustain with my right hand When you pass the
desert land; A pillar of fire shall light the way While you journey heavenward.

Ye bubbling springs that gentle music makes
To lovers' plaints with heart-sore throbs immixt,
Whenas my dear this way her pleasure takes,
Tell her with tears how firm my love is fixt;
And, Philomel, report my timorous fears,
And, Echo, sound my heigh-ho's in her ears.
But if she asks if I for love will die,
Tell her, Good faith, good faith, good faith—not I!