A Coloured Print by Shokei

It winds along the face of a cliff

— This path which I long to explore,

And over it dashes a waterfall,

— And the air is full of the roar

And the thunderous voice of waters which sweep

In a silver torrent over some steep.

It clears the path with a mighty bound

— And tumbles below and away,

And the trees and the bushes which grow in the rocks

— Are wet with its jewelled spray;

The air is misty and heavy with sound,

And small, wet wildflowers star the ground.

Oh! The dampness is very good to smell,

— And the path is soft to tread,

And beyond the fall it winds up and on,

— While little streamlets thread

Their own meandering way down the hill

Each singing its own little song, until

I forget that 'tis only a pictured path,

— And I hear the water and wind,

And look through the mist, and strain my eyes

— To see what there is behind;

For it must lead to a happy land,

This little path by a waterfall spanned.

Rate this poem: 


No reviews yet.