Short Poems

This night to the west of the river-brim
There is not one cloud in the whole blue sky,
As I watch from my deck the autumn moon,
Vainly remembering old General Hsieh. . . .
I have poems; I can read;
He heard others, but not mine.
… Tomorrow I shall hoist my sail,
With fallen maple-leaves behind me.

When dentists fill my mouth with those
Dry cotton wads, how swiftly flows
The liquefaction of my woes.

Next, when I cast mine eyes and see
That prong vibrating bold and free—
Oh, how that buzzer scareth me!

From Kaminabi's crest
The clouds descending pour in sheeted rain,
And, 'midst the gloom, the wind sighs o'er the plain :—
Oh! he that sadly press'd,
Leaving my loving side, alone to roam
Magami's desolate moor, has he reach'd home?

The happiness of children … do not speak
That nonsense where a parent may o'erhear—
He knows that still, on childhood's gayest cheek,
There lingers a bright tear.

I love Sir Kenelm's old remark, it is an allegory:
So hasten, jolly hunting men, and chafe the flying quarry!

Lo, in the wildwoods of the mind there's royal game for venery,
And sport more brave than gathering eggs dropped for you in a hennery.

So ride the bramble-thickets through, with loud hulloa and cry,
And you shall have the steaming heart and bake a Humble Pie!

'Twas said of old, and still the ages say,
“The lover's path is full of doubt and woe.”
Of me they spake : I know not, nor can know,
If she I sigh for will my love repay.
My head sinks on my breast; with bitter strife
My heart is torn, and grief she cannot see.
All unavailing is this agony
To help the love that has become my life.

This one-story inn at Nan-king ferry
Is a miserable lodging-place for the night—
But across the dead moon's ebbing tide,
Lights from Kua-chou beckon on the river.

When the moonlight, reaching a tree by the gate,
Shows her a quiet bird on its nest,
She removes her jade hairpins and sits in the shadow
And puts out a flame where a moth was flying.

While gazing up into the sky,
My thoughts have wandered far;
Methinks I see the rising moon
Above Mount Mikasa
At far-off Kasuga.

Who rusts inactive learns the bliss of toil;
Who sinks in toil has learned the bliss of rest;
And God, whose purpose is the good of all,
Knows best both when to give and when withhold.