English

Every comrade of mine, arm in arm with his fair,
Through the alley of limes is walking;
While I—God have mercy, and make me His care—
All alone through the street am stalking.

How my heart is opprest, and what tears dim my eye,
If his tale should another be telling
To his love! for also a love have I;
But away and far off is her dwelling.

For years now this trouble I've had to endure,
But I'll suffer no longer such sorrow:
With knapsack and staff, in the hope of a cure,
I'll go forth on the wide world to-morrow.

The scentless laurel a broad leaf displays,
Few and by fewer gather'd are the bays;
Yet these Apollo wore upon his brow . .
The boughs are bare, the stem is twisted now.

They say there is a fairy in every streak'd tulip.
I have rows and rows of them beside my door.
Hoop-la! Come out, Brownie,
And I will give you an emerald ear-ring!
You had better come out,
For to-morrow may be stormy,
And I could never bring myself to part with my emerald ear-rings
Unless there was a moon.

Duck come switchin' 'cross de lot
Hi, oh, Miss Lady!
Hurry up an' hide de pot
Hi, oh, Miss Lady!
Duck's a mighty 'spicious fowl,
Slick as snake an' wise as owl;
Hol' dat dog, didn't let him yowl!
Hi, oh, Miss Lady!

Th'ow dat co'n out kind o' slow
Hi, oh, Miss Lady!
Keep yo'se'f behin' de do'
Hi, oh, Miss Lady!
Lots o' food'll kill his feah,
Co'n is cheap but fowls is deah--
"Come, good ducky, come on heah."
Hi, oh, Miss Lady!

Ain't he fat and ain't he fine,
Hi, oh, Miss Lady!

I've brewed myself a whole bunch of trouble,
and all because of feelings of love!
The spring dream in this house of passion
never really formed:
I wasted days and evenings
of “rain-and-cloud.”

The swallow—what does he know
of my feelings?
It's the oriole who seems to call her name!
To get rid of this passion
I can talk about the Void—
or turn within to look at my own heart.

Just like the spray
of a whale
rising for air
in
the salt breeze—
in the offing,
one clump of clouds
dropping
an evening shower.

In one day
snow melts to fall again—
cool on Fuji’s peak.

Faith is the spirit that makes man's body and blood
Sacred, to crown when life and death have ceased
His heavenward head for high fame's holy feast;
But as one swordstroke swift as wizard's rod
Made Cæsar carrion and made Brutus God,
Faith false or true, born patriot or born priest,
Smites into semblance or of man or beast
The soul that feeds on clean or unclean food;
Lo here the faith that lives on its own light,
Visible music; and lo there, the foul
Shape without shape, the harpy throat and howl.

Let us go hence, my songs; she will not hear.
Let us go hence together without fear;
Keep silence now, for singing-time is over,
And over all old things and all things dear.
She loves not you nor me as all we love her.
Yes, though we sang as angels in her ear,
She would not hear.

Let us rise up and part; she will not know.
Let us go seaward as the great winds go,
Full of blown sand and foam; what help is there?
There is no help, for all these things are so,
And all the world is bitter as a tear.