Last night, while a gust blew peach-petals open
And the moon shone high on the Palace Beyond Time,
The Emperor gave P'ing-yang, for her dancing,
Brocades against the cold spring-wind.
All afternoon I have been struggling to communicate in Italian with Roberto and Giuseppe, who have begun to resemble the two male characters in my Italian for Beginners, the ones who are always shopping or inquiring about the times of trains, and now I can hardly speak or write English.
Buying leeks
and walking home
under the bare trees.
Translated by Robert Hass
In the fierce light the butterfly wings free —
So delicate, and yet so fibred to
Withstand the stress a giant would faint under.
But outer Space,
At least this far,
For all the fuss
Of the populace
Stays more popular
Than populous
The world's light shines, shine as it will,
The world will love its darkness still.
I doubt though when the world's in hell,
It will not love its darkness half so well.
But for a woodpecker
tapping at a post, no sound
at all in the house
He'll have his all; and though his heart is great,
Ay, prodigal of kindness, yet is he
A very Shylock in his bargaining.
Those soft, mild eyes of his grow hard as iron
To gauge the too, too little or too much,
When commerce puts his temper to the touch.
bush-clover flowers —
they sway but do not drop
their beads of dew
Bush warbler:
shits on the rice cakes
on the porch rail.
Translated by Robert Hass
