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Alms
And you as well must die, beloved dust
Ashes of life
Departure
Exiled
God's world
Heart, have no pity on this house of bone
I being born a woman and distressed
I do but ask that you be always fair
I know a hundred ways to die
I know I am but summer to your heart
I pray you if you love me, bear my joy
I shall forget you presently my dear
I think I should have loved you presently
I'll keep a little tavern
If I should learn in some quite casual way
Inland
Love is not all
Love is not blind
Love, though for this you riddle me with darts
Loving you less than life, a little less
Mindful of you the sodden earth in spring
Night is my sister
Oh, oh, you will be sorry
Oh think not I am faithful to a vow
Only until this cigarette is ended
Sorrow
The heart once broken
The penitent
Think not, not for a moment let your mind
This door you might not open, and you did
Thou art not lovelier than lilacs, -- no
Time does not bring relief; you all have lied
Travel
What lips my lips have kissed, and where and why
When I too long have looked upon your face
When we are old and those rejoicing veins
Mijn gast en zo vermaarde, wijze vriend
De haas die lijkbleek voor het daglicht vlucht
Na van advies door jou te zijn gediend
Hoog tijd dat ik nu zelf mijn hart eens lucht
’t Is dwaasheid je in liefde te verliezen
En waanzin te vertellen wat er speelt
Geen sprake van geheimen of intriges
Zo zegt de volksmond, ’t wordt door mij gedeeld
Wanneer de hond dacht: er valt iets te jagen
Heb ik je kwaad berokkend, zonder meer
Maar ben ik ziek dan minder lamgeslagen
En opgeluchter door ’t geredeneer
Straks zeg ik dood sluipt rond, hoor zijn geblaf
‘k Ben met mijn scherp gehoor niet beter af
My most Distinguished Guest and Learned Friend,
The pallid hare that runs before the day
Having brought your earnest counsels to an end
Now have I somewhat of my own to say:
That it is folly to be sunk in love,
And madness plain to make the matter known,
There are no mysteries you are verger of;
Everyman's wisdoms these are, and my own.
If I have flung my heart unto a hound
I have done ill, it is a certain thing;
Yet breathe I freer, walk I the more sound
On my sick bones for this brave reasoning?
Soon must I say, " 'Tis prowling Death I hear!"
Yet come no better off, for my quick ear.
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