4

Like mist on the lees,
Fall gently, oh rain of Spring
On the orange trees
That to Ume's casement cling—
Perchance, she'll hear the love-bird sing.

1

Winter? Spring! Who knows!
White buds from the plumtrees wing
And mingle with the snows
No blue skies these flowers bring,
Yet their fragrance augurs Spring.

2

Oh, were the white waves,
Far on the glimmering sea
That the moonshine laves,
Dream flowers drifting to me—
I would cull them, love, for thee.

The Old Man

Where'er I turn, upon a tomb I tread,
Lifeless the living and alive the dead;
The living fade away before mine eyes,
From their dim sepulchres the buried rise;
While I, nor dead nor living, wait the morn
When I shall die, and, dying, be reborn,
And walk the Earth rejuvenant and whole,
Among the living dead a deathless soul.

Pages

Subscribe to RSS - Short Poems