O bird, that used to press,
Thy head against my cheek
Oh that I might capture the essence of this deep midwinter night
And fold it softly into the waft of a spring-moon quilt,
Lord Rama! My honour is in Your hands.
My body, in its withering, may become a lovely swallow.
Under the eaves of my loved one's home I'll build my nest of twigs.
IF I, dearest Lily, did not love thee,
How this prospect would enchant my sight!
Farewell to old England for ever,
Farewell to my rum culls as well,
If hush'd the loud whirlwind that ruffled the deep,
The sky, if no longer dark tempests deform;
Oh Mary this London's a wonderful sight
With people here workin' by day and by night
OH thou token loved of joys now perish'd
That I still wear from my neck suspended,
When the stars go to sleep,
The babies awake,
My brother Andy said, that for a soldier he would go,
So great excitement came upon the house of McElroe.
“Neither do I condemn thee,”
O words of wondrous grace;
NAY, no longer I may hold you,
In my spirit's soft caresses,
O what their joy and their glory must be,
Those endless Sabbaths the blessèd ones see;
O little mouse, why dost thou cry
While merry stars laugh in the sky?
LORD of the lotus, lord of the harvest,
Bright and munificent lord of the morn!
WHITHER dost thou hide from the magic of my flute-call?
In what moonlight-tangled meshes of perfume,
"Ambubaiarum Collegia Pharmacopeiæ."
SOFT falls the mild, reviving shower
From April's changeful skies,
A KOKILA called from a henna-spray:
Lira! liree! Lira! liree!
This male phoenix has returned to his old home,
from roaming the four seas searching for his mate.
Your lips were so laughing Langston man
I shall be satisfied
With the seeing of thy face.
True tenderness is silent
You may talk of Columbus's sailing
Across the Atlantical Sea
Behold, above the hidden root,
How white the bloom, how black the fruit!
Now the day is over,
Night is drawing nigh,
So closed our tale, of which I give you all
The random scheme as wildly as it rose:
Our boat to the waves go free,
By the bending tide, where the curled wave breaks,
From the woods and the glossy green,
With the wild thyme strewn;
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