Short Poems

Lover of England, stand awhile and gaze
With thankful heart, and lips refrained from praise;
They rest beyond the speech of human pride
Who served with Nelson and with Nelson died.

Do not grieve, little birds,
over the falling blossoms:
They're not to blame, it's the wind
who loosens and scatters the petals.
Spring persists in leaving us,
don't hold it against her.

I SANG of Love upon a virgin peak
Where the Madonna snows in holy peace
Breathed the pure incense of the edelweiss;
Yet as I sang amid the awful hush,
The 'passioned Sun God strode across the East,
And o'er the whiteness of the snow's pale cheek,—
Halting my song with wonder—stole a blush!

The Lord accepts the love of all.
With whatsoever mind each serves Him, He knows the inner secrets of the heart.
Sevri tasted the wild plums: she set aside the sweet ones.
He put aside all scruples of defilement and ate them with undoubted mind.
Syama the friend of Sants and Bhagats came to Bidur's house.
His kindness over-flowed in boundless love: freely he tasted of his herbs.
Sent by the Kawravas the Risi came to curse: but with a single leaf all were sated.
Sur Das, the Lord is the treasury of mercy from age to age he has magnified His worshippers.

Thou tool of faction, mercenary scribe,
Who preachest treason to the Calveshead tribe,
Whose fruitful head, in garret mounted high,
Sees legions, and strange monsters, in the sky;
Who would'st with war and blood thy country fill,
Were but thy power as rampant as thy will:
Well may'st thou boast thy self a million strong,
But 'tis in vermin that about thee throng.

The Frost in flame that Louers finde,
And swelting heat in chilly colde,
So quite contrary are by kinde,
As strange it seemeth to beholde,
Strange is the feare that makes them fainte,
And strange the care that chokes their ioy,
Yet stranger passions me attaynte,
The onely Nursse of mine annoy.

While footman-like he waits in every hall,
His ill-matched wife is well received by all;
Graceful and comely she, he scarce a man,
A dire contrast of scald-crow with a swan.

wintering butterfly,
the moor as drained

the rose garden—
unless you retrace your steps
there's no exit

On a part of a spear still unrusted in the sand
I have burnished the symbol of an ancient kingdom. . . .
Except for a wind aiding General Chou Yü,
Spring would have sealed both Ch'iao girls in Copper-Bird Palace.