Short Poems

When all within is mire and dirt what profits bathing the outer shell?
The Form invisible is within the palace to that thou dost not bow the head.
Without long striving none wins the secret—what avails it to roam in the company of Sadhus?
Says Darya, Thou abandoned wretch, Thou fool, why dost thou weep and beat thy brow?

O Lord, let not Thy heart forget me.
Thou knowest all my inmost thoughts, whatever I do.
Thou hast carried to safety all the sinners, of whom this world was full.
This grief it is that slays me, that thou hast given me no part with them
Again and again through many births have I wandered, but at last have fallen at Thy feet.
At this hour why dost thou withdraw. Thine arm from me? The tear of this is my death.
I am a sinner, Thou the rescuer of sinners: why then dost thou desert me?
Even if thou countest not Sur, a sinner, yet for Thine own sake save me.

And in the Métro—the Paris subway—
They have the prettiest verbal nicety:
They call Rush Hours
Les Heures d' Affluence.

Oh! skylark for whose carolling
The livelong day sufficeth not!

Mother, for thy sake I have been
Where the wakana grow,
To bring thee back some fresh green leaves;
And see—my koromo
Is sprinkled with the snow!

The books of childhood,
Which of old I used to learn,
I read to-day; and,
As their faded leaves I turn,
Am a boy again, a boy.

The red stove warms the room where a beautiful woman sleeps,
Beyond the curtains flying snow increases the coldness
In the small garden, they are playing mouth organs and singing,
The fragrant breeze gathers robes of silk and gauze
Wine is poured, the golden cups are full;
Amidst orchid musk, the feast is offered again
The young gentleman is as drunk as mud,
On the Avenue of Heaven his horse is heard neighing.

The very frequented
City of Naniwa
Is so near the sea
That one can see the boats ridden in by the fisher-women.

Old love would seem as though not love today:
Spell-bound by thee, my laughter dies away.
The very wax sheds sympathetic tears
And gutters sadly down till dawn appears.

How long can this floating life last?
A formless creature chasing empty glory.
Better to brew a lot of wine,
To tip your cup often in a bamboo grove