THE FOX AND THE CROW

THE FOX AND THE CROW

A young crow stole, one summer's day,

A meaty morsel of tasty cheese.

At once he rose and flew away

To eat his prize in peace and ease."

In his strong beak he bore it high
And perched upon a tall, dead tree,

A hungry fox was slinking by;

He stopped and gazed up craftily.

"If I, " he thought, "play my cards right,

I shall enjoy some meat for free."

He kept the crow fixed in his sight

And crept up slowly to the tree.

"Oh, crow," he called to him on high,

"How splendid your black wings appear

Against the blue of this bright sky.

Your eyes see far and are so clear."

"Your breast, it is an eagle's breast,

Your claws, I mean, your talons, sir,

Are tough as tempered steel. Your dress

Of feathers is finer by far than fur."

"Your beak is as a sword of steel!

Your bearing's better than the best!

And all in all, one can but feel

Your glossy tail just fits the rest!"

"Yes, over all, one can but say

You are a most brave and graceful creature:

A ruler of the air by day,

A flying king in every feature."

The crow was pleased to hear these things

And gave the fox a friendly gaze,

And wagged his tail and flapped his wings

With pleasure at this sudden praise.

"Oh, crow," the sly fox called once more,

"What a pity that the king of birds

Should lack a voice to call and caw,

And should be silent, want for words."

"I've yet to hear your fair throat ringing,

But I am sure that it must be

Much better than all other singing

For sweetly moving melody."

"A bird who has such strength and grace

Must have a voice to match. What's wrong

That you don't fill this airy space

With the power of your joyful song?"

At this the crow's heart pulsed with pride,

For often, in the past, he'd found

That he had had his voice described

As a hollow, harsh, unmusical sound.

And so to please the fox below

With his rare voice, both loud and raw,

The proud and pompous, foolish crow

Called mightily, "Ark, ark; caw, caw!"

But as his black beak opened there,

The tasty cheese slipped from his grip,

And tumbled downwards through the air,

The fox beneath was watching it.

Before it touched the dusty ground,

His waiting jaws snapped up the prize,

The cheese went down with a munching sound;

He finished it on the crow's last cries.

The fox looked up and said at length,

"I loved what came out from your beak.

I praised your beauty and your strength;

About your brains I did not speak."

The crow looked down, sad was his gaze,

For he has been too slow to see

The difference between real praise

And false and cunning flattery.

THE OLD CHIMNEY CORNER

THE OLD CHIMNEY CORNER

After The German Of Heinrich Heine

Outside now the white flakes fly

Through the night, loud is the storm;

In the small room here it's dry;

Lonely, homely-calm, and warm.

I sit, musing in my armchair,

By the crackling fire place;

And the boiling kettle hums there

Long-lost melodies' last trace.

And a small cat sits just by,

Warming small paws in the glow;

Flame forms flicker, weave and fly;

Strange the moods within me grow.

As in twilight, rises many,

Many a long-forgotten era;

As in drifting, long and motley

Masquerades and faded splendour.

With knowing looks fair women beckon

With a sweet, mysterious air;

Harlequins, with gay abandon,

Jump and laugh between them there.

In the distance gods of marble

Give a greeting, near them grow

Dreamlike flowers of tale and fable,

Leaves astir in moonlight glow.

Past me swim uncertain sights,

Magic castles of past ages;

And behind come shining knights,

Riding with attendant pages.

And this all goes passing over,

Hurried shadow-hastily-

Oh! the kettle's boiling over,

And the wet cat howls at me.

MOON GLIDING

MOON GLIDING

Deep in the night, in white, white light,

The gibbous moon seems gliding;

A silent sight, fast seems its flight,

A swift, near-circle riding

Through frosty fleeces, the cloudy pieces

That fill the floor of heaven.

Yet is it so? The clouds all flow,

The moon stays still and even,"

We say, although what do we know?

The moon flies further, hurled

Deep in deep space, in swifter race,

It runs around our world.

So this is so- it just seem slow,

But shifts while we are sleeping,

In "moonth" to trace, from place to place,

Year ring of solar keeping-

Just weeks to fly around our sky...

The clouds are merely creeping.

Moon- Night (from German of Eichendorff)

MOON-NIGHT

after the German of Joseph Freiherr Von Eichendorff

It was as if the sky

The earth had quietly kissed,

That she must dream of him,

Alone, in flower-mist.

Through fields there flew a breeze,

Corn ears waved softly near,

Low-rustled forest trees;

The night was so star-clear.

And then my soul outspread

Her wings, wide and alone,

Through silent lands she fled,

As if she flew towards home.

THE KORFISH CLOCK

THE KORFISH CLOCK

Korf invents a clock where two

pairs of circling hands are found,

one runs forward as clocks do,

but as well one's backward bound.

Pointing two- but also ten;

pointing three- but also nine;

one has but to see it, then

gone is every fear of time.

For with clocks on Korfish time,

with their Janus-parted course,

(that is why their strange design)

time keeps cancelling its force.     

from the German of Christian Morgenstern

EARTH, WATER, AIR AND FIRE

EARTH, WATER, AIR AND FIRE

In clarity of clear crystal,

In depth of dark rock,

In weight of world's matter,

In moulding silent stone,

In bones of the bare globe's darkness;

Is built earth's form.

The leaping, lashing ocean's swell,

The lapping, lulling ripples' wash,

The glistening, swirling rapid's flow,

The tumbling, twinkling fall of raindrops,

And the still lake's sunlit silence,

Weave the water's world.

Rolling in air-borne currents,

Whirling in hurricane's wrath,

Whistling in the winter's wind,

Rustling on a breeze's breath,

Rushing through the raging storm;

Breathes air's freedom.

Fury of unfolding flames,

Flight of their dancing forms,

Heat of the heaven's sun,

Fire of its celestial sphere,

And the sleeping volcano's invisible power,

Flame with fire's force.

WITHIN

WITHIN

Within the vastness of the galaxy,

Within the spiralled, shining crowds of stars,

Is seen this one: the blazing gold-white sun.

Within its radiant influence is found

A blue-white world with cloud and gleaming seas.

And on this world a large, dry-hearted land

Holds green coasts, brown plains, age-worn mountains.

And on one coast there is a sprawling city

With tall, grey buildings spread out by the harbour,

With suburbs, grey roads, houses, trees and cars.

And in one suburb there's a street-marked hill

With letter-boxes, streetlights, dogs and gardens.

And on this hill there is a small, white house,

And in that house there is a small, square room,

With white walls, books, and bed, and lamp, and slippers,

And sitting on this bed a thoughtful man

Who holds the biro writing out these lines.

The pen is in my hand,

And I sit on the bed

The bed is in the room,

The room is in the house,

The house is by the street,

The street is in the city,

The city's on the land,

The land's within the world,

The world within the benefice of that

One blazing sun within the crowds of stars,

A spiralled, shining crowds of stars within

The far, far reaches of the galaxy.

O NIGHT, STAR-FOUNTAIN

O NIGHT, STAR-FOUNTAIN

after the German of Christian Morgenstern

O night, star-fountain, I

bathe sheath and spirit in

your thousand suns on high-

O night, surrounding me

with joy of revelation;

yield all you know and see.

O night, you deep, deep fountain...

THE SONG OF THE ELF

THE SONG OF THE ELF

after the German of Eduard Mörike

One village night the watchman called:

"Twelfth hour!"

A small elf slept in the wood and snored-

Around the twelfth hour-

The "elf hour" reached his ears, thought he,

"The nightingale is calling me

From valley depths- or else the high elves call."

He rubbed sleep from his eyes. Alone

He set out from his snail-shell home;

And he was like a drunken rover-

His night nap was not fully over.

So tippertap, his hobbling trail,

Through hazel wood, went down the vale,

Slipped by a thick wall in the night,

And glow worms sat there, light on light.
"What are all these small, bright windows here?

A wedding's on within, it's clear,

And by their meal the small folk sit;

They're in the hall enjoying it.

I'd like a small peep at it all."

-Oops, he struck his head on hard, stone wall!

Dear elf, is that enough for you?

Cuckoo! Cuckoo!