Short Poems

More dim than wining moon
Thy face, mort faint
Than is the falling wind
Thy voice, yet do
Thine eyes most strangely glow,
Thou host . . thou ghost.

Your hopeless patients will live,
Your healthy patients will die.
I have only this word to give:
Wonder, and find out why

old diary ~
a silverfish crawls
on her autograph

Sleep no more, it’s time to wake,
Close is parting time, provisions ye take,
The passenger sojourns there, after the death,
Horrible is grave, in it’s very make.

Old age is courteous--no one more:
For time after time he knocks at the door,
But nobody says, "Walk in, sir, pray!"
Yet turns he not from the door away,
But lifts the latch, and enters with speed.
And then they cry "A cool one, indeed!"

Oh you Knid, you are vile and vermicious!
You are slimy and soggy and squishous!
But what do we care
'Cause you can't get in here,
So hop it and don't get ambitious!

Loosener of springs, he died by thee!
Softness, not hardness, sent him home;
He loved thee-and thou mad'st him free
Of all the place thou comest from!

O, gid jeg var af Jern og Staal!
mit Hjerte let kan faae det.
Det bugter sig ligesom en Aal
Jeg kan ei holde paa det!

O thou immortal deity
Whose throne is in the depth of human thought,
I do adjure thy power and thee
By all that man may be, by all that he is not,
By all that he has been and yet must be!

O wind, why do you never rest
Wandering, whistling to and fro,
Bringing rain out of the west,
From the dim north bringing snow?