Warped… gland-dry…
With spine askew
And body shrunken into half its space…
Well-used as some cracked paving-stone…
Bearing on his grimed and pitted front
A stamp… as of innumerable feet.

old pond.....
a frog leaps in
water's sound

Up to your crown, O willow, dressed in the green of jades,
Myriads of twigs so verdant, droop like your silken braids.
Who knows who the tailor is, who's cut your leaves so fine? It's
The vernal winds past February, sharp as the scissors' blades.

Philo with twelve years' study hath been grieved
To be understood ; when will he be believed?

This thing, that hath a code and not a core,
Hath set acquaintance where might be affections,
And nothing now
Disturbeth his reflections.

Approach with reverence. There are those within,
Whose dwelling-place is Heaven. Daughters of Jove,
From them flow all the decencies of Life;
Without them nothing pleases, Virtue's self
Admired not loved; and those on whom They smile,
Great though they be, and wise and beautiful,
Shine forth with double lustre.

A famous conqueror, in battle brave,
Who robbed the cradle to supply the grave.
His reign laid quantities of human dust:
He fell upon the just and the unjust.

Erected to 'Boss' Shepherd by the dear
Good folk he lived and moved among in peace
Guarded on either hand by the police,
With soldiers in his front and in his rear.

Go little book,
To him who, on a lute with horns of pearl,
Sang of the white feet of the Golden Girl:
And bid him look
Into thy pages: it may hap that he
May find that golden maidens dance through thee.

825

An Hour is a Sea
Between a few, and me—
With them would Harbor be—