Tag: Poems

Spring, spring, has come, while yet the landscape bears

Its fleecy burden of unmelted snow!

Now may the zephyr gently ‘gin to blow,

To melt the nightingale’s sweet frozen tears.

Anon

When the great men of old pass’d by this way,

Could e’en their pleasures vie with ours to-day?

Anon

For ever on Mikane’s crest,

That soars so far away,

The rain it rains in ceaseless sheets,

The snow it snows all day.

And ceaseless as the rain and snow

That fall from heaven above,

So ceaselessly, since first we met,

I love my darling love.

Anon

When Winter turns to Spring,

The dews of morn in pearly radiance lie,

The mists of eve rise circling to the sky,

And Kaminabi’s thickets ring

With the sweet notes the nightingale doth sing.

Anon

From the loud wave-wash’d shore

Wend I my way,

Hast’ning o’er many a flow’r,

At close of day, –

On past Kusaka’s crest,

Onward to thee,

Sweet as the loveliest

Flower of the lea!

Anon

Here on one side of the stream I stand,

And gaze on my love on the other strand.

Oh ! not to be with her, what sadness!

Oh ! not to be with her, what madness!

If but a red-lacquered skiff were mine,

With paddles strewn over with pearls so fine,

Then would I pass the river,

And dwell with my love for ever!

Anon

Shame and despair are mine from day to day;

But, being no bird, I cannot fly away.

Anon

Under the seal of tawny dust,

On a sheet of stone

Mottled and deadly green,

Was carved an image in an ancient costume:

I gazed upon her profile

And coldly gleamed,

Beneath her grave expression,

The trace of a silent smile.

An image on green stone you are,

Yet the bashful herb in the field resembles you.

CHEN MÊNG-CHIA.

When clouds are thin, and the wind is light,

about the noontide hour,

I cross the stream, through willow paths

with all around in flower.

The world knows not my inmost thoughts

which make me seem a fool;

I’m taken for a truant boy

escaped from tedious school.

Chêng Hao A.D. 1032-1085

Across the screen the autumn moon

stares coldly from the sky;

With silken fan I sit and flick

the fireflies sailing by.

The night grows colder every hour, –

it chills me to the heart

To watch the Spinning Maiden

from the Herdboy far apart.

Tu Mu A.D. 803-852