Short Poems

Since earnestly studying the Buddhist doctrine of emptiness,
I've learned to still all the common states of mind.
Only the devil of poetry I have yet to conquer —
let me come on a bit of scenery and I start my idle droning.

" Stepping about on the beach of Koyorogi,
on that beach,
the girl is gathering plants.
Don't wet her, don't wet her,
stay in the offing, stay, waves! "
" I won't mind getting wet, if I can gather plants
for you to eat, plants for you to eat. "

The south wind has brought gentle goddesses,
has wet the bronze, wet fountains,
wet swallows' wings and golden feathers,
wet the brine, the sand, the fish,
wet quietly temples, baths, theaters;
this procession of quiet gentle goddesses
has wet my tongue.

They are not those who used to feed us
When we were young--they cannot be--
These shapes that now bereave and bleed us?
They are not those who used to feed us,--
For would they not fair terms concede us?
--If hearts can house such treachery
They are not those who used to feed us
When we were young--they cannot be!

Sweet as the tender fragrance that survives,
When martyred flowers breathe out their little lives,
Sweet as a song that once consoled our pain,
But never will be sung to us again,
Is thy remembrance. Now the hour of rest
Hath come to thee. Sleep, darling; it is best.

A subtle chain of countless rings
The next unto the farthest brings;
The eye reads omens where it goes,
And speaks all languages the rose;
And, striving to be man, the worm
Mounts through all the spires of form.

To morrow, Julia, I betimes must rise,
For some small fault, to offer sacrifice:
The Altar's ready; Fire to consume
The fat; breathe thou, and there's the rich perfume.

Thou sayest Loves Dart
Hath prickt thy heart;
And thou do'st languish too:
If one poore prick,
Can make thee sick,
Say, what wo'd many do?

That Morne which saw me made a Bride,
The Ev'ning witnest that I dy'd.
Those holy lights, wherewith they guide
Unto the bed the bashfull Bride;
Serv'd, but as Tapers, for to burne,
And light my Reliques to their Urne.
This Epitaph , which here you see,
Supply'd the Epithalamie.

Thanksgiving for a former, doth invite
God to bestow a second benefit.