Short Poems

Never must my bones be laid
Under the mimosa's shade.
He to whom I gave my all
Swept away her guardian wall,
And her green and level plot
Green or level now is not.

He who sits thoughtful in a twilight grot
Sees what in sunshine other men see not.
I walk away from what they run to see,
I know the world, but the world knows not me.

Deep in the mountains,
I gaze up
at the moon
shining in the clear—
leaves on the trees
abandoned
to the enticing

Relaxing by the south window I spread silk;
the sun ablaze seems to burn up the blinds.
This bright autumn day I love and I hate:
the ink dries easily, the brush gets sticky easily.

God did forbid the Israelites, to bring
An Asse unto Him, for an offering:
Onely, by this dull creature, to expresse
His detestation to all slothfulnesse.

Das farbenlaub umschlang die sage
Von manchem weh des sommerbrands
Als eine reife süsse klage. .
Und unsre wünsche pochten minder
Bei glück und träne schöner kinder—
So waren alle diese tage
Von blum und frucht ein duftiger kranz.

Grande é a noite que me cerca,
E negra a duvida que sinto,
Mas, antes que minha alma perca
A consciencia em que me minto.

Quero que alguma coisa minha
Possa ter mais que nada ter.

Terre trop molle pour qu'y croissent
Des sentiments autres que de femmes
Nous appelons la terre ferme

Ceux à qui sur la terre ferme
Rien n'est permis, hormis la haine

If , sworn to love, my heart could change,
Or thine, and Beauty's captive, range,
The only difference then would be,
That fickle, though possess'd of thee,
With a new ringlet I should play,
Or to another dimple stray.

Here lies New Critic who would fox us
With his poetic paradoxes.
Though he lies here rigid and quiet,
If he could speak he would deny it.