Short Poems

O fare you well, my brudder, fare you well by de grace of God,
For I'se gwinen home;
I'se gwinen home, my Lord I'se gwinen home.
Massa Jesus gib me a little broom,
For to sweep my heart clean;
Sweep 'em clean by de grace of God,
An' glory in my soul.

Today I parted from my love.
When will we meet again?
The bright lamp shines on the empty chess-board—
So long and still no mate.

Tom Evan's the lad for hunting up songs,
Tom Evan to whom the best learning belongs;
Betwixt his two pasteboards he verses has got,
Sufficient to fill the whole country, I wot.

This is the day sacred to mirth and joy,
In which the happy, happy pair were join'd;
Let boundless pleasure ev'ry soul employ;
The swain is blest, the lovely nymph is coy.

Ive searched my faculties around
To learn why life to me was lent
I will attend his faintest sound
And then declare to man what God hath meant

Who seeks for heaven alone to save his soul,
May keep the path, but will not reach the goal;
While he who walks in love may wander far,
But God will bring him where the Blessed are.

Mrs Blue Dickey-bird, who went out a-walking with her six chickey birds: she carried a parasol and wore a bonnet of green silk.
The first little chickey bird had daisies growing out of his head, and wore boots because of the dirt.
The second little chickey bird wore a hat, for fear it should rain.
The third little chickey bird carried a jug of water.
The fourth little chickey bird carried a muff, to keep her wings warm.
The fifth little chickey bird was round as a ball.
And the sixth little chickey bird walked on his head, to save his feet.

There was an old person who said—
‘Do you think I've a very large head?’

Sith Venus had her mole, Helen her stain,
Cynthia her spots, the Swan hath sable feet,
The clearest day some cloud, the smoothest plain
Some hole, or hillock, why should Phryna fret
When she is said to have a ruby nose,
Sith that is rich, and all her rareness shows?

Each year in Chao Village pink apricots bloom—
fifteen years now, how many times have I seen them?
But at seventy-three it's hard to count on another visit.
I've come this spring to say good-bye to the blossoms.