A crevice! shouts the Emperor in his sleep, and the canopy of ostrich plumes trembles. The soldiers who pace the corridors with unsheathed swords believe the Emperor dreams about a siege. Just now he saw a fissure in the wall and wants them to break into the fortress.
In fact the Emperor is now a wood-louse who scurries across the floor, seeking remnants of food. Suddenly he sees overhead an immense foot about to crush him. The Emperor hunts for a crevice in which to squeeze. The floor is smooth and slippery.
Yes. Nothing is more ordinary than the dreams of Emperors.

Medjnoon in his Solitude

© Louisa Stuart Costello

My ev'ry thought and wish was thine;
Alas! thou know'st too well
The ties that bind thy soul and mine,
How lasting need I tell.

Hymne

© André Marie de Chénier

SUR L'ENTRÉE TRIOMPHALE
DES SUISSES RÉVOLTÉS ET AMNISTIÉS DU RÉGIMENT
DE CHATEAUVIEUX

Sonnet 79: Sweet kiss, Thy Sweets I Fain

© Sir Philip Sidney

Sweet kiss, thy sweets I fain would sweetly endite,
Which even of sweetness sweetest sweet'ner art:
Pleasing'st consort, where each sense holds a part;
Which, coupling doves, guides Venus' chariot right;

O That the Lord's Salvation

© Henry Francis Lyte

O that the Lords salvation
Were out of Zion come,
To heal His ancient nation,
To lead His outcasts home!

Mein Kind, Wir Waren Kinder

© Heinrich Heine

My child, we were just children,

Two happy kids, thats all:

A Bad Snap

© Lesbia Harford

He: That isn't you.
She: It's me, in my blue skirt
And scarlet coat and little golden shoes.
He: Not good enough.

The Burden Bearer

© Edgar Albert Guest

Oh, there's selfishness within me, there are times it gets to talkin',
Times I hear it whisper to me, "It's a dusty road you're walkin';
Why not rest your feet a little; why not pause an' take your leisure?
Don't you hunger in your strivin' for the merry whirl of pleasure?"
Then I turn an' see them smilin' an' I grip my burdens tighter,
For the joy that I am seekin' is to see their eyes grow brighter.

Hoffer

OF mortal parents is the Hero born
By whom the undaunted Tyrolese are led?
Or is it Tell's great Spirit, from the dead
Returned to animate an age forlorn?

Poesy's Guerdon

( * * * I do not believe a single modern English
poet is living to-day on the current proceeds of his
verse.--From "Literary Taste and How to Form it,"
by Arnold Bennett.)

Mimnermus in Church

YOU promise heavens free from strife,
Pure truth, and perfect change of will;
But sweet, sweet is this human life,
So sweet, I fain would breathe it still;
Your chilly stars I can forgo,
This warm kind world is all I know.