Short Poems

My ancient Palace I regret,
Though rot attacks the eaves,
And o'er the roof the creeping vine
Spreads out and interweaves
Unpruned its straggling leaves.

I petition no more at the north palace-gate.
... To this tumble-down hut on Chung-nan Mountain
I was banished for my blunders, by a wise ruler.
I have been sick so long I see none of my friends.
My white hairs hasten my decline,
Like pale beams ending the old year.
Therefore I lie awake and ponder
On the pine-shadowed moonlight in my empty window.

So close thy friendly roof, so near the spring,
That though not yet dull winter hath gone hence,
The wind that bloweth o'er our parting fence
From thee to me the first gay flow'rs doth bring,

Lakka-trees ripen two by two
And mandarin-ducks die side by side.
If a true-hearted girl will love only her husband,
In a life as faithfully lived as theirs,
What troubling wave can arrive to vex
A spirit like water in a timeless well?

O loath that Loue whose fynall ayme is Lust
Moth of the mynde, Eclipse of Reasons light
The graue of Grace, the mole of Natures Rust
The wracke of witt, the wronge of euery wight.
In Sume an euill, whose harmes no tonge can tell
In w c h to Liue is death, to dye is Hell.

While the year sinks westward, I hear a cicada
Bid me to be resolute here in my cell,
Yet it needed the song of those black wings
To break a white-haired prisoner's heart. . . .
His flight is heavy through the fog,
His pure voice drowns in the windy world.
Who knows if he be singing still? —
Who listens any more to me?

I ask'd my soul where springs th' ill-omened seed
That bears the herb of dull forgetfulness;
And answer straightway came: Th' accursed weed
Grows in that heart which knows no tenderness.

Even in this world the spirit of a hero
Lives and reigns for thousands of years.
You were the firmest of the pot's three legs;
It was you who maintained the honour of the currency;
You chose a great premier to magnify your kingdom ...
And yet you had a son so little like his father
That girls of your country were taken captive
To dance in the palace of the King of Wêi.

Now hid from sight are great Mount Fusi's fires.
Mount Fusi, said I? — 'Tis myself I mean;
For the word Fusi signifies, I ween,
Few see the constant flame of my desires.

When falls the snow, lo! ev'ry herb and tree,
That in seclusion through the wintry hours
Long time had been held fast, breaks forth in flow'rs
That ne'er in spring were known upon the lea.