Short Poems

994

Partake as doth the Bee,
Abstemiously.
The Rose is an Estate—
In Sicily.

We die for home and country; dying thus,
The welfare of our land shall live with us.

Patience to endure lightning and thunder,
Patience to face darkness at noon,
Patience to go through a grinding-mill -
Be patient whatever befalls, doubting not
that He will surely come to you.

Patience! why, 'tis the soul of peace:
OF all the virtues, 'tis nearest kin to heaven:
It makes men look like gods. The best of men
That e'er wore earth about Him was a sufferer;
A soft, meek, patient, humble, tranquil spirit;
The first true gentleman that ever breathed.

the paths we never took
call us again and again~
memories live on
...

Pat wasn't Pat last night at all.
He was the rain,
The Spring,
Young Dionysus, white and warm,
Lilac and everything.

Der scharfe Geist hat euch geschwind durchdrungen,
Und bald empfängt er eure Huldigungen;
Den tiefen aber sollt ihr selbst durchdringen,
Drum wird ihm eure Liebe spät gelingen.

Passion makes the old medicine new:
Passion lops off the bough of weariness.
Passion is the elixir that renews:
how can there be weariness
when passion is present?
Oh, don't sigh heavily from fatigue:
seek passion, seek passion, seek passion!

Passing through the world
Indeed this is just
Sogi's rain shelter

More than air
More than water
More than lips
Light light

Your body is the trace of your body