Works

(Moon Poems for the Children/Fairy-tales for the Children)
(What the Little Girl Said)


The Moon's the North Wind's cooky.
He bites it, day by day,
Until there's but a rim of scraps...

As the full moon shining there
To the sun that lighteth her
Am I unto thee for ever,
O my secret glory-giver!
O my light, I am dark but fair,
Black but fair.
...

The Moper mopeth all the day;
He mopeth eke at night;
And never is the Moper gay,
But, grim and serious alway,
He is a sorry sight.

He liketh not the merry quip;
He hateth other men;...

You mustn't groom an Arab with a file.
You hadn't ought to tension-spring a mule.
You couldn't push a brumby fifty mile
And drop him in a boiler-shed to cool.
I'll sling you through six counties in a day....

Yon whey-faced brother, who delights to wear
A weedy flux of ill-conditioned hair,
Seems of the sort that in a crowded place
One elbows freely into smallest space;
A timid creature, lax of knee and hip,...

If thou feelest not the beautiful, still thou with reason canst will it;
And as a spirit canst do, that which as man thou canst not.

Three other soldier blokes 'n' me packed 'ome from foreign lands;
Bit into each the God of Battles' everlastin' brands.
They limped in time, 'n' coughed in tune, 'n' one was short an ear,...

A hermit (or if 'chance you hold
That title now too trite and old),
A man, once young, who lived retired
As hermit could have well desired,
His hours of study closed at last,...

Man is in truth a poor creature, I know it, and fain would forget it;
Therefore (how sorry I am!) came I, alas, unto thee!

When Freedom, on her natal day,
Within her war-rocked cradle lay,
An iron race around her stood,
Baptized her infant brow in blood;
And, through the storm which round her swept,...

Who may do most, does least: the bravest will
Show mercy there, where they have power to kill.

Canto The First.


I.

In the beginning was the Word next God;
God was the Word, the Word no less was He:
This was in the beginning, to my mode...

So soft Time's plumage in life's budding spring,
We rarely note the flutter of his wing.
The untutored heart, from pain and sadness free,
Beats high with hope and joy and ecstasy;...

I dare not look at those dear eyes,
The sun was never half so bright,
There surely more of rapture lies
Than ever bless'd a mortal's sight.

In thy sweet face I see impress'd...

Slow buds the pink dawn like a rose
From out night's gray and cloudy sheath;
Softly and still it grows and grows,
Petal by petal, leaf by leaf;
Each sleep-imprisoned creature breaks...

'Twas in the glad season of spring,
Asleep at the dawn of the day,
I dream'd what I cannot but sing,
So pleasant it seem'd as I lay.
I dream'd that, on ocean afloat,
Far hence to the westward I sail'd,...

FOR MY DAUGHTER MARGARET.


Very like to a dream,
Doth the time to me seem,
When with thee a young girl by my side,
One of summer's fine days,
In a one pony chaise,...

They bloom up the fresh, green trellis
In airy, vigorous ease,
And their fragrant, sensuous honey
Is best beloved of the bees.

Oh! the rose knows the dainty secret
How the morning-glory blows,...

Like a maid on her bridal morn I rise,
With the smile on her lip and the tear in her eyes;
Whilst the breeze my crimson banner unfurls,
I wreathe my locks with the purest pearls;...

("Le voile du matin.")

[Bk. V. viii., April, 1822.]


The mist of the morning is torn by the peaks,
Old towers gleam white in the ray,
And already the glory so joyously seeks...