Short Poems

After the rain, the vegetables from your garden
are wonderful to behold!
But suddenly I hear that you are sick,
lying in your hidden studio.
It must be that you really have no " method for calming the mind " :
whatever made you cut those sunflowers from their stems?

Mountain of green trees and orioles everywhere!
I return from watching clouds over the stream.
Human life can never be without some kind of trouble;
it is only when walking in the mountains
that we really achieve peace.

X

The trees, like great jade elephants,
Chained, stamp and shake 'neath the gadflies of the breeze;
The trees lunge and plunge, unruly elephants:
The clouds are their crimson howdah-canopies,
The sunlight glints like the golden robe of a Shah.
Would I were tossed on the wrinkled backs of those trees.

You're a vessel
full of fresh tea leaves.
After I enter,
I forget the old tea,
I forget the old tea.

Achilles banefull wrath resound, O Goddesse, that imposd
Infinite sorrowes on the Greekes ; and many brave soules losd
From breasts Heroique: sent them farre, to that invisible cave
That no light comforts: and their lims, to dogs and vultures gave.
To all which, Joves will gave effect; from whom, first strife begunne,
Betwixt Atrides , king of men; and Thetis godlike Sonne.

Let us use it while we may;
Snatch those joys that haste away.
Earth her winter-coat may cast,
And renew here beauty past;
But, our winter come, in vain
We solicit spring again:
And when our furrows snow shall cover,
Love may return, but never lover.

Peace, peace, peace, make no noise,
Pleasure and fear lie sleeping;
End, end, end your idle toys,
Jealous eyes will be peeping:
Kiss, kiss and part, though not for hate, for pity;
Ha' done, ha' done, ha' done, for I ha' done my ditty.

I, a most wretched Atlas, the huge world,
The whole huge world of sorrow I must carry.
Yea, the unbearable must bear, though meanwhile
My heart break in my bosom.
Thou haughty heart, thyself hast willed it thus,
Thou would'st be happy, infinitely happy,
Or infinitely wretched, haughty heart!
And lo! now art thou wretched.

And when I lamented my cruel lot,
You yawned in my face and you answered not.
But now that I set in dainties rhyme,
You flourish my trumpet all the time.

127 Tuesday, 4 June 1751

Caepisti melius quam desinis: ultima primis
Cedunt: dissimiles hic vir, et ille puer.
Ovid [Her. IX 23 4]

Succeeding years thy early fame destroy;
Thou, who began'st a man, wilt end a boy.