Quatrain

Thou bid'st me come; I cannot come; for why? Thou dwell'st aloft, and I want wings to fly. To mount my soul, she must have pinions given;

Ever as now with Love and Virtue's glow May thy unwithering soul not cease to burn, Still may thine heart with those pure thoughts o'erflow

Light lay the earth on Willy's breast, His chicken-heart so tender; But build a castle on his head,

To my ninth decade I have tottered on, And no soft arm bends now my steps to steady; She, who once led me where she would, is gone,

Friday night's dream On the Saturday told, Is sure to come true,

Princes and fav'rites are most dear, while they By giving and receiving hold the play; But the relation then of both grows poor,

God hath two wings which He doth ever move; The one is mercy, and the next is love: Under the first the sinners ever trust;

Quem modo Roma suis devoverat impia diris, Et Styge damnarat Taenarioque sinu, Hunc vice mutata jam tollere gestit ad astra,

Cushy cow bonny, let down thy milk, And I will give thee a gown of silk; A gown of silk and a silver tee,

Wherever the Catholic sun doth shine, There's always laughter and good red wine. At least I've always found it so.

Hannah Bantry in the pantry, Eating a mutton bone; How she gnawed it, how she clawed it,

When Hafiz saw the portrait free, By Monty Flagg, of him and me, He made remarks one can't repeat

Can the Burbanks of the glorious West Either make or buy or sell An onion with an onion's taste

Both of us seek for truth in the world without thou dost seek it, I in the bosom within; both of us therefore succeed. If the eye be healthy, it sees from without the Creator;

It's such a little thing to weep, So short a thing to sigh; And yet by trades the size of these

Rowley Powley, pudding and pie, Kissed the girls and made them cry; When the girls begin to cry,

Mistress Mary, quite contrary, How does your garden grow? With cockle-shells, and silver bells,

Curly locks! curly locks! wilt thou be mine? Thou shalt not wash dishes, nor yet feed the swine; But sit on a cushion and sow a fine seam,

High was her heart, and yet was well inclined, Her manners made of bounty well refined; Far capitals and marble courts, her eye still seemed to see,

Hush-a-bye, a ba lamb, Hush-a-bye a milk cow, You shall have a little stick

Bright ran thy line, O Galloway, Thro' many a far-fam'd sire! So ran the far-fam'd Roman way,

Here's to a temperance supper, With water in glasses tall, And coffee and tea to end with

God-born before the Sons of God, she hurled, With awful symphonies of flood and fire, God's name on rocking Chaos world by world

Little cock robin peep'd out of his cabin, To see the cold winter come in, Tit, for tat, what matter for that,

Where every bird is bold to go, And bees abashless play, The foreigner before he knocks

Awake, arise, pull out your eyes, And hear what time of day; And when you have done, pull out your tongue,

It might be easier To fail with land in sight, Than gain my blue peninsula

Our household-gods our parents be; And manners good require that we The first fruits give to them, who gave

Thy former coming was to cure My soul's most desp'rate calenture; Thy second advent, that must be

The spell of Shakespeare fills the heart With earthly music loud and low; But Marlowe drives the clouds apart,

Roots had no money; yet he went o' the score, For a wrought purse; can any tell wherefore? Say, what should Roots do with a purse in print,

What are my books? - My friends, my loves, My church, my tavern, and my only wealth; My garden: yea, my flowers, my bees, my doves;

Sound, sound the clarion, fill the fife! To all the sensual world proclaim, One crowded hour of glorious life

Pilgrim, no shrine is here, no prison, no inn: Thy fear and thy belief alike are fond: Death is a gate, and holds no room within:

Proud of my broken heart since thou didst break it, Proud of the pain I did not feel till thee, Proud of my night since thou with moons dost slake it,

Scobble for whoredom whips his wife and cries He'll slit her nose; but blubbering she replies, "Good sir, make no more cuts i' th' outward skin,

Oft have I heard both youths and virgins say Birds choose their mates, and couple too this day; But by their flight I never can divine

What care I how black I be, Twenty pounds will marry me; If twenty won't, forty shall,

In some strange place Of long-lost lands he finds her waiting face - Comes marveling upon it, unaware,

Give me a reason why men call Punchin a dry plant-animal. Because as plants by water grow,

All the stream that's roaring by Came out of a needle's eye; Things unborn, things that are gone,

There is no Paradise like that which lies Deep in the heavens of her azure eyes: There is no Eden here on Earth that glows

To-night in million-voiced London I Was lonely as the million-pointed sky Until your single voice. Ah! So the sun

Confession twofold is, as Austin says, The first of sin is, and the next of praise. If ill it goes with thee, thy faults confess:

In this book I have scribbled some innocent rhymes, In various moods, and at different times; Some grave and some cheerful, some merry, some sad,

True Brahmin, in the morning meadows wet, Expound the Vedas of the violet, Or, hid in vines, peeping through many a loop,

Thou hast made many houses for the dead; When my lot calls me to be buried, For love or pity, prithee let there be

All who have toiled for Art, who've won or lost, Sat equal priests at her high Pentecost; Only the chrism and sacrament of flame,

Close keep your lips, if that you mean To be accounted inside clean: For if you cleave them we shall see

'Tis not greatness they require To be offer'd up by fire; But 'tis sweetness that doth please