A moongate in my wall: собрание стихотворений - [53]

Of course, it's very impolite

Since I've been asked to speak,

But if one's intellect is weak

He never does what's right.

My speech was very short, you see,

And there was nothing to it.

I'm sorry; won't you pardon me?

I really hope I'll do it.

[1921 г.]

495. Chinese Lampshade

I have a pretty little shade

From Lantern street, Beitsing;

It's not so beautifully made,

But, oh, I love the thing!

My friends — they find its colors bright,

It hurts their eyes it seems;

But when it shines on me at night

It speaks of wondrous dream s…

They take me back to places I have known.

To ancient temples I have worshipped in;

They make me smell the incense that was blown

Before the gods and goddesses w ithin…

Upon the lantern's yellow, velvet ray

I travel back, as fast as thought can dare,

Back to a walled-in city far away,

Where lamps like mine are all night long aglare.

The richaws pitter-patter down the street,

A dusty street outside the City wall,

And all you do is — watch the sights you meet,

And hear the noises spreading over all.

Perhaps it's garish, and the colors severe,

But I forget the beauty you all know

For just a glimpse of lanterns over there —

In old Beitsing, the place where I would go.

[1921 г.]

496. «I bought a frame to fit..»

I bought a frame to fit

a dream I dreamt one night —

that I could often sit

and revel in the sight.

I put it in — but then

it vanished from the frame,

and never more again

I dreamt it just the same.

I got a jar of glass

to keep a lovely flower;

I placed it there — alas,

it wilted in an hour.

I saw a human soul

and gave that soul a song

But now I know its dole:

it will not live there long.

[1921 г.]

497. To October 1922

Why do you leave me, when I loved you so?

Where did you come from? Whither you go?

And, far outside the lives and worlds of men,

Tell me, my friend, may we not meet again?

[1922 г.]

498. «She said, when she had read his book…» [231]

Frances Johnson

She said, when she had read his book,

That he was fickle; Rupert Brooke,

So full of soul, so rich with thought,

So near the beauty he had sought…

Was «fickle» all that she could see?

And for his depth she did not care?

— Then what he wrote was not for her…

And, maybe, not for me.

[1922 г.]

499. My Star

In the sunset's orange glowing

How I loved to watch my star—

How I loved to watch it growing,

Coming nearer from afar!

It was brilliant, it was winking,

Shining straight upon my soul,

While the sun's red glove was sinking

Swiftly to'rds its daily goal.

Oh, my sapphire now deserts me!

It has left the Summer skies,

Now a vacant darkness hurts me

When I seek it with my eyes.

Ever northward falling, drowned

Past the gray horizon line—

Star of hope, that I had crowned

For a destiny of mine!

[1923 г.]

500. To a Stink-bug [232]

One day I saw a stink-bug small

А-sitting near me on the wall.

I said: «Tray tell me, Stink-bug dear,

What makes you suddenly appear

And light when no one wants you to,

As if the place belongs to you?

Will you not answer me?» I cried.

And, hark! The dirty bum replied,

As he looked up: «What did you think?

— I love to fly around and stink,

Because I know it makes you sore

To see me lighting on the floor,

Or watch me floating o'er your bed,

Or smell my presence near your head».

With this the grinning bug had flown

And left me, wondering, alone.

1923 г.

501. Homeward Bound

Oh, school's as great as great could be,

And all my friends around,

But it's Harbin and home for me,

And I am northward bound.

So hurry up, you lazy train,

And Farewell, old Tungchow!

Another day — and home again.

Oh, engine, why so slow?

Above North China's wheat and corn

The mists rise thick and white.

Oh, hurry on towards day, sweet morn,

For I'll be home tonight.

A happy winter this has been,

I love to live at school;

But now it's home, and it's Harbin,

— Enough of life by rule!

I want my home, and I am glad

That ere another day

I'll see my Mother and my Dad,

And Kitty at his play;

I'll have my chum again to kiss,

And I w on't work at all,

And never, never will I miss

The school outside the wall.

There won't be any rising bell,

With which the school awakes;

Instead of that there'll be a smell

Of homemade griddlecakes.

And I can stay in bed all day

Without that dose of oil,

And I can let my tired head

Rest from a Junior's toil.

And, Caesar, I'll forget you soon,

Though you have been my friend.

When will you cease, oh, engine's tune?

When will this journey end?

1923 г.

502. «Alone, when once so many were around…»

Alone, when once so many were around,

Who loved me so, and left me now alone!

And now, though once my sleep had been so sound,

I dream all night of faces I have known.

I talk to them of all I saw and learned,

I tell them all I have been thinking of;

I take such pride in praises I have earned,

i take such joy to see again their love!

But w hen the snow is melting on the range

Beneath the heated rays of coining day

Each morning brings too soon the loathsome change

And makes my lonely vision fade away.

Claremont, 12 Oct. [1924]

503. Masterpieces

Snow clouds came to rest on Baldy mountain,

When the sun had hidden in his den,

— After lights were low and voices quiet

In the valley cottages of men.

With a treasure they were heavy laden,