Two coffees tonight cost two bucks
Staying to read stuff that truly sucks
From Aeneid to Lucretia
All are victims of hysteria
Because of Zeus! Jupiter on high!
That thou should let poor Lingxi die!
That thou should snatch away my breath
Save me now by granting me death!...
Nec, quae praeteriit, iterum revocabitur unda:
Nec, quae praeteriit, hora redire potest.
Ovidius Naso, Ars Amatoria, Lib. iii
The moon rises, the sun falls
The twilight darkens, the librarian calls
From the reading room quiet and warm
The poet hastens towards his dorm
Walking through these Gothic halls
Toto, lovely puppy, my lady’s pet
Oft you thrill her with your little paws
In her arms or on her lap; um, your wet
Nose sometimes makes her blush, because
When she holds you closely and dearly
She may find relief and not feel lonely.
“Nunc est bibendum!” *
Filled is the goblet to its brim;
Quickly the sparkling bubbles swim.
Filled are my eyes with silent tears
Slowly telling the sorrows of years
I unfold the thoughts like a pilgrim.
No rosy flowers, no meadows green,
Embrace the goblet’s radiant sheen.
The bubbles, like phantoms, grow and
Rise in the air, yet cannot withstand
The gleams of shine, and vanish unseen.
In Morningside Heights I stand
As if in a dark and haunted land.
As a stranger, strolling in the mist
I recall the memories dearest
In my heart, as lively as I can.
Does the muddy road stretch all the way?
Yes, beyond the horizon.
Will today’s trip take the whole long day?
From dawn to eve, my son.
Shall we meet other travelers in this journey?
Yes, some ahead of us.
Can I talk or ask them what did they see?
They’d be happy to discuss.
Um, is there a resting place for the night?
The sky above is a great tent.
O, it must be cold, tough and dreary, right?
Think what strength is meant.
That was three thousand years ago,
A man, watching wistfully into the sky
Where gulls hovering in the rainbow,
Thought, that man can both run and fly.
So he built himself two wings. And
Trusting them and trying to glide,
Icarus his son, wielding each hand,
Fell into the sea and rested inside.
William White, when importuned by
A young Chinese boy to deny
He is just an American lib,
Looks contempt as—this is a fib
(A whopper; really)—Will shows
He’s one of the American intellectuals
Who see the world through history
Without bias and sentimentality.
