Short Poems

winter has begun—
trees alive and dead
indistinguishable

May! Be thou never graced with birds that sing,
Nor Flora's pride!
In thee all flowers and roses spring,
Mine only died.

Circles are praised, not that abound
In largeness, but the exactly round:
So life we praise that does excel
Not in much time, but acting well.

How can you like it, women!—
To be the solemn quips of bright despair,
Angels in a graveyard,
Monuments of mist on a grass-blade
Tears of the laughing moment,
Smiles of unsmiling time!

When I speak, my lips feel cold,
The autumn wind blowing.

Being invited to a clumsy tea ceremony
A woman who falls asleep after making love
Accompanying the master on a sightseeing trip to the hills
A grievance that goes unheard
A long-staying guest on a night when one has other matters in mind

One white foot, try him;
Two white feet, buy him;
Three white feet, put him in the dray;
Four white feet, give him away;
Four white feet, and a white nose,
Take off his hide and feed him to the crows.

Who are you
woman entering my life like a dagger
mild as the eyes of a rabbit
soft as the skin of a plum
pure as strings of jasmine
innocent as children's bibs
and devouring like words?

The furious gun in his raging ire,
When that the ball is rammèd in too sore
And that the flame cannot part from the fire,
Cracketh in sunder, and in the air doth roar
The shivered pieces. Right so doth my desire
Whose flame increaseth from more to more;
Which to let out I dare not look nor speak,
So inward force my heart doth all to-break.

Encased & shining in a bead of amber
The bee looks trapped in its own nectar:
A fit close to sweet toils, it lies
Coffined in honey—as any bee could wish.