Sickness brought me this Thought, in that scale of his: Why should I be dismayed Though flame had burned the whole World, as it were a coal, Now I have seen it weighed Against a soul?

ALL THINGS CAN TEMPT ME

All things can tempt me from this craft of verse: One time it was a woman’s face, or worse— The seeming needs of my fool-driven land; Now nothing but comes readier to the hand Than this accustomed toil. When I was young, I had not given a penny for a song Did not the poet sing it with such airs That one believed he had a sword upstairs; Yet would be now, could I but have my wish, Colder and dumber and deafer than a fish.

THE YOUNG MAN’S SONG

I whispered, “I am too young,” And then, “I am old enough,” Wherefore I threw a penny To find out if I might love; “Go and love, go and love, young man, If the lady be young and fair,” Ah, penny, brown penny, brown penny, I am looped in the loops of her hair. Oh love is the crooked thing, There is nobody wise enough To find out all that is in it, For he would be thinking of love Till the stars had run away, And the shadows eaten the moon; Ah, penny, brown penny, brown penny, One cannot begin it too soon.