Once did I weepe, and grone,
Drinke teares, draw loathed breath,
And all for loue of one
Who did affect my death:
But now, thankes to disdaine,
I liue relieu'd of paine;
For sighs, I singing goe,
I burne not as before, no, no, no, no.

A thought of her always
stayed in my head, at the back of it,
lardered there, like a berry
in a squirrel's cheek. Those days
that was my amulet
against every adversary —

loneliness, weltschermerz, dull
age and its self-mockery
in presence of anything
buoyant and beautiful.
I would think of her, you see,
young, lovely and welcoming ...

Now I am not so sure —
with her gone — that " Man's love
is of man's life a thing
apart." Unless hid failure
and the slow dissolution of
all purpose be worth husbanding.

God as love ...
I can go with that
Isn't love the ultimate?
Wouldn't I die
For what I love?

Or kill — couldn't I —
what menaced it? —
Given the above
and not to underrate
God as hate ...











By permission of the author.

Thine eyes are kindly bent on mine,
Their gentle glance I scarce can bear:
It bids me every hope resign,
It fills my soul with deep despair.
Alas! that look so kind, so calm, so free
Tells me thou lovest not as I love thee.

When thou'rt afar I see thy face;
Before me still it softly gleams;
The vision has not half thy grace,
I cannot paint thee in my dreams:
Yet ah! dear face, would'st thou but gaze on me
With such a look as in those dreams I see.

The vision changes in my sight,
No more it looks as I am feeling;

This poem was written around 869 when Michizane, aged twenty-five by Japanese count, was still a university student. Roka (literally, " hallway " ) was a nickname given to the section of the Sugawara mansion where the family maintained a private school that prepared young men for admission to the university. A group of them have joined Michizane in his study. This poem is about poetry, wine, friendship, and the passage of time, all of which are common elements in Chinese literature and give this poem a Chinese feeling, amplified by the allusion in line 4.

Go, little book, and sing of love and beauty,
To tempt the worldling into fairy land:
Tell him that airy dreams are sacred duty,
Bring better wealth than aught his toils command
Toils fraught with mickle harm.

But if thou meet some spirit high and tender
On blessed works and noblest love intent:
Tell him that airy dreams of Nature's splendour,
With graver thoughts and hallowed musings blent,
Prove no too earthly charm.

The Queen of Beauty weeps amain
To hear her harmless Dove complain
That yonder Rose, so fondly prest,
Has wounded her confiding breast;
That bosom which in love she sought,
With all inviting odours fraught,
As soft and snowy as her own,
Such cruel treachery has shown,
Betrayed her to the ambushed thorn,
Her bosom pierced, her vesture torn!
Then thus the Queen of Flow'rs upbraids
The culprit Rose: " Go seek the shades! —
Henceforth that tell-tale crimson stain,
Ne'er to be cleansed by dew or rain,
Shall fix a blush upon the breast,

The Rose of Love my Henry sends,
Seems to my heart bright hues to wear,
And balmy fragrance it dispends
That dissipates each brooding care.

How can it sweetest odours shed —
How can it bloom so fresh and fair —
How can its leaflets gaily spread,
While we are still a severed pair? —

Fold up thy leaves, thou bonny Rose,
And hide thee from the rifling air!
Those precious odours fast inclose,
Nor let rough blasts thy vesture tear!

Planted in Hymen's happy soil,
And tended by a blessed pair,

When this you see
May those dear eyes
Be clear and free
As Summer skies!

When this you read
May that kind heart
No solace need,
Feel no sad smart!

When this you close,
Believe it penned
By one who glows,
Best, dearest friend,
With love for you!
In haste, Adieu!

O, say not, my love, with that mortified air,
That your spring-time of pleasure is flown,
Nor bid me to maids that are younger repair
For those raptures that still are thine own.

Though April his temples may wreathe with the vine,
Its tendrils in infancy curled,
'T is the ardor of August matures us the wine
Whose life-blood enlivens the world.

Though thy form that was fashioned as light as a fay's
Has assumed a proportion more round,
And thy glance that was bright as a falcon's at gaze
Looks soberly now on the ground, —