Must a thousand rosebuds fair
First in fiery torments die.
One small flask’s contents to glean,
Whose sweet fragrance aye may live,
Slender as thy finger e’en,
Must a world its treasures give;
Yes, a world where life is moving,
Which, with impulse full and strong,
Could forbode the Bulbul’s loving,
Sweet, and spirit-stirring song.
Since they thus have swell’d our joy,
Should such torments grieve us, then?
Doth not Timur’s rule destroy
Myriad souls of living men?
Then, when thy fields thou tendest well,It o’er them spreads its slime and mud.The ships descend ere daylight wanes,The prudent fisher upward goes;Round reef and rock ice casts its chains,And boys at will the pathway close.To this attend, then, carefully,And what thou wouldst, that execute!Ne’er linger, ne’er o’erhasty be,For time moves on with measured foot.
And see, a goat is sitting by.As if he were its warden.But oh, Quirites, how one errs!The tree is guarded badly;For round the other side there whirrsAnd hums a beetle madly.The hero with his well-mail’d coatNibbles the branches tall so;A mighty longing feels the goatGently to climb up also.And so, my friends, ere long ye…
Why, alas! should bitter pain ariseFrom the noblest passion that we prove?Thou, kind soul, bewailest, lov’st him well,From disgrace his memory’s saved by thee;Lo, his spirit signs from out its cell:BE A MAN, NOR SEEK TO FOLLOW ME.
Food in plenty is prepar’d,Birds, and game, and fishes.Invitations all have had,All proposed attending.Johnny, go and look around!Are they hither wending?Pretty girls I hope to see,Dear and guileless misses,Ignorant how sweet it isGiving tender kisses.Invitations all have had,All proposed attending.Johnny, go and look around!Are they hither wending?Women also I expect,Loving tow’rd their spouses,Whose rude grumbling…
His dirty apron he puts away,And wears a cleanly doublet to-day;Lets wax’d thread, hammer, and pincers rest,And lays his awl within his chest;The seventh day he takes reposeFrom many pulls and many blows.Soon as the spring-sun meets his view,Repose begets him labour anew;He feels that he holds within his brainA little world, that broods there…
When all Spring’s beauteous flowers,When all Spring’s beauteous flowersOur hearts with joy shall fill.With lustre false and fleetingThe sun’s bright rays are thrown;The swallow’s self is cheating:The swallow’s self is cheating,And why? He comes alone!Can I e’er feel delightedAlone, though Spring is near?Yet when we are united,Yet when we are united,The Summer will be here.
