English

Even though it's dark,
lights bewilder me.
I see a race of images,
colors fading and glowing,
lines becoming curves
that narrow and thicken
minute by minute
into a compass
where entire oceans contract,
and a stream widens

Even such is time that takes in trust
Our youth, our joys, our all we have,
And pays us but with age and dust,
Who in the dark and silent grave,
When we have wandered all our ways,
Shuts up the story of our days.

But from this earth, this grave, this dust,
My God shall raise me up, I trust.

Even now the fragrant darkness of her hair
Had brushed my cheek; and once, in passing by,
Her hand upon my hand lay tranquilly:
What things unspoken trembled in the air!

Always I know, how little severs me
From mine heart's country, that is yet so far;
And must I lean and long across a bar,
That half a word would shatter utterly?

Ah might it be, that just by touch of hand,
Or speaking silence, shall the barrier fall;
And she shall pass, with no vain words at all,
But droop into mine arms, and understand!

Even now
My thought is all of this gold-tinted king's daughter
With garlands tissue and golden buds,
Smoke tangles of her hair, and sleeping or waking
Feet trembling in love, full of pale languor;
My thought is clinging as to a lost learning
Slipped down out of the minds of men,
Laboring to bring her back into my soul.

Even now
If I see in my soul the citron-breasted fair one
Still gold-tinted, her face like our night stars,
Drawing unto her; her body beaten about with flame,
Wounded by the flaring spear of love,

FOR A VOLUME OF DOUBLE AUTHORSHIP

Even as tender parents lovingly
Send a dear child in some true servant's care
Forth in the street, for larger light and air,
Feeling the sun her guardian will be,
And dreaming with a blushful pride that she
Will earn sweet smiles and glances everywhere,
From loving faces; and that passers fair
Will bend, and bless, and kiss her, when they see,
And ask her name, and if her home is near,
And think, " O gentle child, how blessed are they
Whose twofold love bears up a single flower! "

I.

Ev'n as my hand my pen on paper lays,
My trembling hand my pen from paper stays,
Lest that thine eyes, which shining made me love you,
Should frowning on my suit bid cease to move you;
So that I fare like one at his wit's end,
Hoping to gain and fearing to offend.
What pleaseth hope, the same despair mislikes,
What hope sets down, those lines despair outstrikes;
So that my nursing murdering pen affords
A grave and cradle to my new-born words.
But whilst, like clouds tost up and down the air,

BY T'AI YUAN-MING

Even as a young man
I was out of tune with ordinary pleasures.
It was my nature to love the rooted hills,
The high hills which look upon the four edges of Heaven.
What folly to spend one's life like a dropped leaf
Snared under the dust of streets,
But for thirteen years it was so I lived.

The caged bird longs for the fluttering of high leaves.
The fish in the garden pool languishes for the whirled water
Of meeting streams.

Evelyn, sweet Evelyn,
List to my lay;
List to the sighs of my heart;
Hearken the words of a lover, sweet dove,
Do, and a blessing impart.

Evelyn, sweet Evelyn,
List to my lay;
Forsooth you have made me to sing;
Your sweet midnight eyes, and your smiles, fair dove,
Have prompted my heart-chords to ring.

Evelyn, sweet Evelyn,
Favor my suit;
Let love smiles sparkle on me—
Incline thy fond heart to a lover, fair dove,
One love glance, a pris'ner to free.

THE MAIDEN .

I' VE seen him before me!
What rapture steals o'er me!
Oh heavenly sight!
He's coming to meet me;
Perplex'd, I retreat me,
With shame take to flight.
My mind seems to wander!
Ye rocks and trees yonder,
Conceal ye my rapture,
Conceal my delight!

THE YOUTH .

'Tis here I must find her,

Ethel in her crimson row boat,
Floats amid the river reeds;
Dreaming dreams of nameless longing,
Little she the gloaming heeds.

Castles grand and rare in beauty
Rise on pinnacles of air;
Knights on royal steeds salute her,
And she listens to their prayer.

One with winning speech draws near her,
May not brook a long delay;
So she bows her head in answer,
For she cannot say him nay.

Bows her head, — ah, yes! fair Ethel!
Now thy golden locks are caught
In the pliant river rushes,