Short Poems

Ye stars in ye skies seem twinkling
In icicles of light,
And ye edge of ye wind cuts keener
Than ever ye sword-edge might;
Ye footsteps crunch in ye courtway,
And ye trough and ye cask go " ping! " —
Ye china cracks in ye pantry,
And ye crickets cease to sing.

" AS love of native land, " the old man said,
" Er stars and stripes a-wavin' overhead,
Er nearest kith-and-kin, er daily bread,
A Hoosier's love is fer the old homestead. "

After a thoughtful, almost painful pause,
Bub sighed, " I'm sorry fer old Santy Claus: —
They wuz no Santy Claus, ner couldn't be,
When he wuz ist a little boy like me! "

Yes, — the bee sings — I confess it —
Sweet as honey — Heaven bless it! —
Yit he'd be a sweeter singer
Ef he didn't have no stinger.

BY LI T'AI-PO

He asks why I perch in the green jade hills.
I smile and do not answer. My heart is comfortable and at peace.
Fallen peach-flowers spread out widely, widely, over the water.
It is another sky and earth, not the world of man.

BY LI T'AI-PO

At what season last year did my Lord leave his Unworthy One?
In the Southern garden, the butterflies were fluttering in the young green grass.
Now, this year, at what season does the Unworthy One cherish thoughts of her Lord?
There is white snow on the Western hills and the clouds of Ch'in are dark.
It is three thousand li from here to the Jade Barrier.
I desire to send the " harmonious writings, " but how can they reach you?

BY LI T'AI-PO

The old Imperial Park — the ruined Terrace — the young willows.
The water-chestnut pickers are singing, a simple song unaccompanied by instruments — but joy is unbearable.
For now the moon over the Western River is alone.
The time is past when she gazed upon the concubines in the Palace of the King of Wu.

BY LI T'AI-PO

From whose house do the invisible notes of a jade flute come flying?
The Spring wind scatters them. They fill the City of Lo Yang.
To-night, as the phrases form, I hear " The Snapped Willow. "
To whom do they not bring back the love of his old, early garden?

BY LI T'AI-PO

The magnificent horse, galloping swiftly, tramples the fallen flower.
Down comes the riding-whip, straight down — it strikes the Five Cloud Cart
The young person who lifts the pearl door-screen is very beautiful. Moreover, she smiles.
She points to a Red Building in the distance — it is the home of the Flower Maiden.

BY LI T'AI-PO

The wind blows. The inn is filled with the scent of willow-flowers.
In the wine-shops of Wu, women are pressing the wine. The sight invites customers to taste.
The young men and boys of Nanking have gathered to see me off;
I wish to start, but I do not, and we drink many, many horn cups to the bottom.
I beg them to look at the water flowing toward the East,
And when we separate to let their thoughts follow its example and run constantly in my direction.