Stay near me—do not take thy flight! A little longer stay in sight! Much converse do I find in Thee, Historian of my Infancy! Float near me; do not yet depart! Dead times revive in thee: Thou bring'st, gay Creature as thou art! A solemn image to my heart, My Father's Family!
Oh! pleasant, pleasant were the days, The time, when in our childish plays My sister Emmeline and I Together chased the Butterfly! A very hunter did I rush Upon the prey:—with leaps and springs I follow'd on from brake to bush; But She, God love her! feared to brush The dust from off its wings.
There was a time in Europe long ago, When no man died for freedom anywhere, But England's lion leaping from its lair Laid hands on the oppressor! it was so While England could a great Republic show. Witness the men of Piedmont, chiefest care Of Cromwell, when with impotent despair The Pontiff in his painted portico Trembled before our stern embassadors. How comes it then that from such high estate We have thus fallen, save that Luxury With barren merchandise piles up the gate Where nobler thoughts and deeds should enter by: Else might we still be Milton's heritors.
Fair river! in thy bright, clear flow Of crystal, wandering water, Thou art an emblem of the glow Of beauty—the unhidden heart— The playful maziness of art In old Alberto’s daughter;
But when within thy wave she looks— Which glistens then, and trembles— Why, then, the prettiest of brooks Her worshipper resembles; For in my heart, as in thy stream, Her image deeply lies— His heart which trembles at the beam Of her soul-searching eyes.
After dark —- A city park —- There runs the thing That comes to life By night. Caged in stillness Through sunlit hours. Its night persona Is blurred movement Seen only from the Corner of an eye. It stays near deep shadow, Beyond the lamp lit arcs.
Where is it? No one knows, But if one were to Check the cathedral Spire, you’d find Only an impenetrable Void… until sunup.
Low, warm light lands on the village. Cattle and sheep trapsing farmward. Farmer mulls a missing shepherd, Leaning on his staff, still on guard. Pheasants cluck, wheat heads are heavy, Silkworms dormant, mulberry leaves few. Farmers stand, hoes on their shoulders, Telling old tales, as if they were new. How I envy the idle time -- To chat about mankind's decline.
This is poem #16 of the 300 Tang Poems [唐诗三百首.] The original poem in Simplified Chinese is:
In the cloud-grey mornings I heard the herons flying; And when I came into my garden, My silken outer-garment Trailed over withered leaves. A dried leaf crumbles at a touch, But I have seen many Autumns With herons blowing like smoke Across the sky.
Tiger Riding for Beginners 