Once I knew a fine song, —It is true, believe me,— It was all of birds, And I held them in a basket; When I opened the wicket, Heavens! they all flew away. I cried, “Come back, Little Thoughts!” But they only laughed. They flew on Until they were as sand Thrown between me and the sky.
I Explain the silvered passing of a ship at night, The sweep of each sad lost wave, The dwindling boom of the steel thing’s striving, The little cry of a man to a man, A shadow falling across the grayer night, And the sinking of the small star; Then the waste, the far waste of waters, And the...
There was a land where lived no violets. A traveller at once demanded: “Why?” The people told him: “Once the violets of this place spoke thus: ‘Until some woman freely gives her lover To another woman We will fight in bloody scuffle.’” Sadly the people added: “There are no violets here.”
Once I saw mountains angry, And ranged in battle-front. Against them stood a little man; Ay, he was no bigger than my finger. I laughed, and spoke to one near me, “Will he prevail?” “Surely,” replied this other; “His grandfathers beat them many times.” Then did I see much virtue in grandfathers...
A Youth in apparel that glittered Went to walk in a grim forest. There he met an assassin Attired all in garb of old days; He, scowling through the thickets, And dagger poised quivering, Rushed upon the youth. “Sir,” said this latter, “I am enchanted, believe me. To die thus, In this mediæval...
The Wayfarer, Perceiving the pathway to truth, Was struck with astonishment. It was thickly grown with weeds. “Ha,” he said, “I see that none has passed here In a long time.” Later he saw that each weed Was a singular knife. “Well,” he mumbled at last, “Doubtless there are other roads.”
