We have scarcely time to tell thee
Of the strange and gifted Shelley,
Kind hearted man, but ill-fated,
So youthful drowned and cremated.

Oh, England!
Sick in head and sick in heart,
Sick in whole and every part:
And yet sicker thou art still
For thinking that thou art not ill.

A year ago, you swore, fond she!
'To love, to honour,' and so forth:
Such was the vow you pledged to me,
And here's exactly what 'tis worth.

When I was young in school in Switzerland, about the time of the Boer War,
We used to take it for known that the human race
Would last the earth out, not dying till the planet died. I wrote a schoolboy poem
About the last man walking in stoic dignity along the dead shore
Of the last sea, alone, alone, alone, remembering all
His racial past. But now I don't think so. They'll die faceless in flocks,
And the earth flourish long after mankind is out.

En seer man født for Prosa og En for Poesi,
En skabtes for Agurker og En for Potpourri.

Her findes Hierter nok, her findes for Et,
Een Hiertens Hierte-Flok, var hvert især kun kiærligt
Men om jeg tænkte sligt, var al mit Spil forseet,
Thi Hierter 10 er falsk, naar Hierter Es er Ærligt;
Min Ven! pas Hierter bort, betænk, hvad tit er skeet:
Der spillet mangen een med Hierter, og blev beet.

Hun havde Sletteboens Sind,
der mangler Flugt og Højde,
men sværmede lidt for de slanke Rør,
hvor Dafnis skar sig en Fløjte.

Reen Handel og Vandel florere i Landet!
Forsigtighed lykkes ved Roeret paa Vandet!
Oprigtighed havne med Gods i Behold!
Velsignelse følge med alle de Vahre,
Hvis Eiermænd erlig vil unde og svare
Den Told, som bør Told!

Vor Neubergs Bryst
Har Moed og Lyst
At aabne Ærens Porte;
Hans kloge Tinding blive graae,
5Hans hvide Orden blive blaae,
Hans Fiender blive sorte!

How should they appraise you, who walk up close to you as to a mountain, each proclaiming his own eyeful against the other's eyeful.

Only time standing well off shall measure your circumference and height.