Short Poems

The fruit of all the service that I serve
Despair doth reap, such hapless hap have I.
But though he have no power to make me swerve,
Yet, by the fire, for cold I feel I die.
In paradise, for hunger still I sterve;
And, in the flood, for thirst to death I dry.
So Tantalus am I, and in worse pain
Amids my help, and helpless doth remain.

DISAPPOINTMENT

From the drear wastes of unfulfilled desire,
 We harvest dreams that never come to pass,
Then pour our wine amid the dying fire,
 And on the cold hearth break the empty glass.

From the bathing machine came a din
As of jollification within;
It was heard far and wide,
And the incoming tide
Had a definite flavour of gin.

There was an Old Man of Dumblane,
Who greatly resembled a crane;
But they said, " Is it wrong, since your legs are so long,
To request you won't stay in Dumblane? "

Sun-swept beaches with a light wind blowing
From the immense blue circle of the sea,
And the soft thunder where long waves whiten —
These were the same for Sappho as for me.
Two thousand years — much has gone by forever,
Change takes the gods and ships and speech of men —
But here on the beaches that time passes over
The heart aches now as then.

The scent of hyacinths, like a pale mist, lies between me and my book;
And the South Wind, washing through the room,
Makes the candles quiver.
My nerves sting at a spatter of rain on the shutter,
And I am uneasy with the thrusting of green shoots
Outside, in the night.
Why are you not here to overpower me with your tense and urgent love?

For cover — the tall forest,
for a floor — the moss.
The stone folk, the tree people will keep you company.
You'll have everything you need if you live in the mountains;
the only problem is — no one is willing to try!

The flowering tree does not spare itself:
it lets the creepers wrap themselves around.
Years pass, the creepers grow …
now you see creepers—you can't see the tree.

Flow, flow—he's often near water;
blow, blow—he's comfortable in the hills.
Ah, wonderful! this gentleman:
where on earth is he not at home?

Five bolts of hanging silk,
jade dragons on the run!
The Seventy-Two Mountains
were carved by a demon's chisel.
I've fallen into the water, fallen off my donkey,
and I don't care at all:
people have always risked their lives
for a single taste of blowfish!