Ingen i hele vor By gad røre din Kone, det veed du,
Dengang det let kunde skee, da det var nemt at gaae til
Nu, hun bevogtes saa strengt, nu seer du en uhyre Skare
Krybskytter øve din Dont — Du er unægtelig snild!
Shooting star at twilight
memories skim the water
darkness closing fast
(Previously published in Borders and Time, March 2000)
friends, take note ~
monks are shaking
the roof of the world
Suí yǒu cháimén chāng bù guān,
Piàn yún Gūmù bàn shēn xiān.
Yóu xián zhù jiǔ rén zhī chù,
Jiàn nǐ yí jiā gèng shàng shān.
Thy form is lovely and thine eyes are honeyed,
O'er thy face the pale
Clear light of love lies like a veil.
Bidding thee rise,
With outstretched hands,
Before thee Aphrodite stands.
Thus love commands, that I in vain complain me,
And sorrow will that she shall still disdain me:
Yet did I hope, which hope my life prolonged,
To hear her say, alas! His love was wronged.
Oh, the thumb-sucker's thumb
May look wrinkled and wet
And withered, and white as the snow,
But the taste of a thumb Is the sweetest taste yet
(As only we thumb-suckers know).
There was an old person of Nice,
Whose associates were usually Geese.
They walked out together, in all sorts of weather.
That affable person of Nice!
There was an Old Man with a beard,
Who said, "It is just as I feared! --
Two Owls and a Hen, four Larks and a Wren,
Have all built their nests in my beard.
Of my city the worst that men will ever say is this:
You took little children away from the sun and the dew,
And the glimmers that played in the grass under the great sky,
And the reckless rain; you put them between walls
To work, broken and smothered, for bread and wages,
To eat dust in their throats and die empty-hearted
For a little handful of pay on a few Saturday nights.
