A moongate in my wall: собрание стихотворений - [55]

the golden turrets of a rising cloud.

Oh, gentle wind, sweet scented breath that stirs

this silent waking water, — and the lace

of willows, and green saplings, and brown burrs

framing its face!

What can the heart within a human breast —

what can it do with that taut golden string

calling for all the agony and unrest

which make men sing?

Weep in such hours of ecstasy, oh heart!

Be silent, oh dark heart, — you cannot cool

your burning thirst from that deep, glittering pool,

or reach that sky light where the willows part!

Nothing there is that you can do. Lie low,

hide on the soft black earth, in the wet grass,

breathe not when this mild wind begins to blow,

hear not, nor watch how the green ripples go,

that, seeing you — helpless and suffering so —

those stirring hours take pity on you and pass!

Shanghai, [Sept. 1934]

513. Dawn

So dawn creeps to dark waters, and so hope

to still, sick, sombre hearts, that vainly grope

throughout the night, not knowing that a day

is near, to end their sorrow and dismay.

How bright the ripples in the sudden glare

of morning, and the waking trees how fair!

Even my wingless heart can so forget

that it alone has not been lighter yet…

Shanghai, [Sept. 1934]

514. «If I had but a little common sense…»

If I had but a little common sense,

I would forsake you, 1 would travel hence

and maybe see, in lovely places, far,

that you were not the sky's most brilliant star.

Perhaps on lofty mountains I would seek

the flaming flower of the snow-clad peak,

or on some island in the sunny sea

forget the words that you have said to me.

There are so many wonders I could find,

that life would yet be bountiful and kind,

and going so I should not drop a tear,

— if I had sense…

But I have none, my dear.

Shanghai, 23 Oct. 1934

515. «It's not because you leave me that I weep…»

It's not because you leave me that I weep,

nor am I broken just because we part, —

but that the coin of friendship proved so cheap,

and that your word meant nothing in your heart.

Leave me now, go; I will not need you more.

Travel your way, while I shall walk my own;

Let not your conscience worry on my score:

I may be even stronger so, alone.

But should I ever meet you later on —

tired and sick and begging me for bread

with all your luck and earthly glories gone —

better for you if one of us were dead,

for I may turn and give a stone instead.

Shanghai, [1934]

516. To a Man Named Smith

Once in this world of mountain, wood and plain

my road crossed yours. We will not meet again.

But as a dawn breaks open sunlit skies —

so once we looked into each other's eyes.

In that brief hour the words we spoke were few,

and when you went, and I lost sight of you

still all the birds were trilling, and the day

shone just as golden as I walked my way.

Poor foolish heart — why should it cry and cry

because you crossed the verv hour as I?

Shanghai, [1934]

517. «Quiet the waters were, — do you recall?..»

Quiet the waters were, — do you recall? —

quietly did the waters rise and roll

in low and gentle swells, when one fine day

you dropped your anchor in my slumbering bay.

Softly the breezes from the western sky

swept over silent sands where you and I

gazed at the sea — and not a shadow fell,

nor came a cloud to break the golden spell.

How can I wonder now, with you no more,

that black the waters rise, and roar, and roar?

23 Feb. 1936

518. «High in the mountains, where the grass is cool…»

High in the mountains, where the grass is cool,

we tied our horses by an emerald pool,

and as they drank, as they neighed in glee,

we two sat motionless, and speechless, — we.

Upon the shining flanks of your black steed

you watched the water flicker, bead by bead;

you never raised your eyes, yet well you knew —

that all the while 1 only thought of you.

Dear dream forgotten, dream that was so frail!

The evening sky was cloudless, calm and pale —

could I have guessed, as we resumed that trail,

that every star would wane, and every stream

run dry and silent, as in a by-gone dream?

23 Feb. 1936

519. Falling Star

Star as you fell through the blue evening air

when I stood watching you, silent and thrilled,

I was supposed to have breathed a word of prayer

that some deep wish I had might be fulfilled.

But, star, oh, — white, round star, — I saw you fall,

breathlessly saw the light behind you trailed,

and I forgot the earth I trod, and all

earthly desires and wishes, — and I failed…

Bitter my sorrow now, and sore regret

not to have grasped the chance the day it came!

But such was your swift sudden spell, that yet

if others fell — I still would do the same!

Shanghai, [1936]

520. «I'm often dreaming…»

I'm often dreaming

that I unfurl

my tall wings, gleaming

like mother-of-pearl,

and cut my tether,

and take to flight,

with each small feather

glistening white;

but, oh, I waken,

and, to atone,

breathless and shaken

fall, like a stone,

and see — a token

of earthly things —

they're broken —

my shining wings!

[1936]

521. «I am a stranger here. Leave me alone…» [233]

I am a stranger here. Leave me alone.

My eyes are tired of your streets of stone,

your tower houses; I am used to wood

and hill and meadows and to solitude.

All now is ended — all the wild birds flown,