Short Poems

This rich October sunshine is so bright,
The yellow leaves, that at the wind's least breath
Must fall, seem melting into golden light,
As frail old age faints softly into death.

We praise Thee, Almighty God, for Thine elect, the prophets and martyrs of humanity, who gave their thoughts and prayers and agonies for the truth of God and the freedom of the people. We praise Thee that amid loneliness and the contempt of men, in poverty and imprisonment, when they were condemned by the laws of the mighty and buffeted on the scaffold, Thou didst uphold them by Thy spirit in loyalty to Thy holy cause.

Our minds intent upon the festival,
We saw not that the twilight passed away:
Behold, the east proclaims the lord of night
Still hidden by the mountain where he rises,
Even as a maiden by her pale face shows
That in her inmost heart a lover dwells.

Jerdan's mills agrinding, Jerdan's ahay;
Jerdan's mills agrinding, Jerdan's ahay.

Built without nail or hammer.
Runs without wind or water.

We have come thus far, my brothers. We have already laid our plans. With magic power the trail is made easy, bordered with flowers, grass, and trees.
The enemy saw the apparent bounty of nature and assembled, laughing, to gather the seeds and plants. It was the power of the distant magician which made the enemy enjoy his fancied prosperity.
In the center of our council ground the fire burned and, lighting a cigarette I puffed smoke toward the east. Slowly a vision arose before me …

Once a Meiji voice,
Traveling the Pacific,
It has grown rougher.

Though iron-strong and grey,
The moorland wall gives way,
More grey, more strong on high
The weathering sky.

Fresh as the foam of torrents from the snow,
Dark, soft as footsteps in the woods below,
Complete as sunlight falling from above,
New as young vine-leaves, is our virgin love.

Long ago, in stony Greece,
The human heart knew no peace.
In its darkness it was torn,
And cursed, as now, the fate of being born;
And hoped to heal its agony with song.

O Lord, how long?

He sees me
as nothing
but a useless poet—
I owe
the man money.