Short Poems

The under leaves of the lespedeza
When the dew is gathering
Must be cold:
In the autumn moor
The young deer are crying.

Autumn sunlight gilds the evening sky,
In a fish-hawk boat we drift along the river
Thick water-chestnut hides the bathing birds,
Tall lotus screens the fisherman's boats from us
Small pearls lie strewn round snapped chrysanthemums,
Torn silk hangs from the broken lotus-buds
Falling blossoms urge us to drink our wine,
While we sing “The Roosting Birds” to a one-stringed lute.

One gray cricket is fluting,
One only,
In the brown November field:
Clear little lonely voice,
You are like the voice in the heart
When age has come,
And the Belovéd has gone forever.

The coward ever sings no song,
He listens to no chime,
He has no heart, he has no tongue,
To build the lofty rhyme.

air-raid sirens—
the last to turn off the lights
is a temple with blossoms

Nature makes clear the windy air
and bright the round moon.
In the bamboo garden, on the
pine fence, not a speck of dust.
How fresh and clean my life
with a long lute and piled scrolls!

Grouse pouts,
Fine trouts,
Right venison
For my benison.
Leave your stinking town in haste,
For you have no time to waste.

A BEGGAR to the graveyard hied
And there “Friend corpse, arise,” he cried;
“One moment lift my heavy weight
Of poverty; for I of late
Grow weary and desire instead
Your comfort; you are good and dead.”
The corpse was silent. He was sure
'Twas better to be dead than poor.

With the shrewd and upright man
Seek a friendship rare;
Exercise with shrewd and false
Superheedful care;
Pity for the upright fool
Find within your heart;
If a man be fool and false,
Shun him from the start.

Multiplication is vexation,
Division is as bad;
The Rule of Three it puzzles me,
And fractions drive me mad.