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Read Ebook: Japanese Prints by Fletcher John Gould Lathrop Dorothy Pulis Illustrator
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Ebook has 168 lines and 12943 words, and 4 pages
She is a gust of wind, Bending in parallel curves the boughs of the willow-tree.
Gilded hummingbirds are whizzing Through the palace garden, Deceived by the jade petals Of the Emperor's jewel-trees.
The wind half blows her robes, That subside Listlessly As swaying pines.
The wind tosses hers In circles That recoil upon themselves: How should I love--as the swaying or tossing wind?
She glances expectantly Through the pine avenue, To the cherry-tree summit Where her lover will appear.
Faint rose anticipation colours her, And sunset; She is a cherry-tree that has taken long to bloom.
Late summer changes to autumn: Chrysanthemums are scattered Behind the palings.
Gold and vermilion The afternoon.
I wait here dreaming of vermilion sunsets: In my heart is a half fear of the chill autumn rain.
The daimyo and the courtesan Compliment each other.
He invites her to walk out through the maples, She half refuses, hiding fear in her heart.
Far in the shadow The daimyo's attendant waits, Nervously fingering his sword.
She is like the great rains That fall over the earth in winter-time.
Wave on wave her heavy robes collapse In green torrents Lashed with slaty foam.
Downward the sun strikes amid them And enkindles a lone flower; A violet iris standing yet in seething pools of grey.
Gaily he offers Packets of merchandise.
He is a harlequin of illusions, His nimble features Skip into smiles, like rainbows, Cheating the villagers.
But in his heart all the while is another knowledge, The sorrow of the bleakness of the long wet winter night.
One life is a long summer; Tall hollyhocks stand proud upon its paths; Little yellow waves of sunlight, Bring scarlet butterflies.
Another life is a brief autumn, Fierce storm-rack scrawled with lightning Passed over it Leaving the naked bleeding earth, Stabbed with the swords of the rain.
He plots for he is angry, He sneers for he is bold.
He clinches his fist Like a twisted snake; Coiling itself, preparing to raise its head, Above the long grasses of the plain.
I have forgotten how many times he kissed me, But I cannot forget A swaying branch--a leaf that fell To earth.
He stands irresolute Cloaking the light of his lantern.
Tonight he will either find new love or a sword-thrust, But his soul is troubled with ghosts of old regret.
Like vines with crimson flowers They climb Upwards Into his heart.
When he first came out to meet me, He had just been girt with the two swords; And I found he was far more interested in the glitter of their hilts, And did not even compare my kiss to a cherry-blossom.
She was a dream of moons, of fluttering handkerchiefs, Of flying leaves, of parasols, A riddle made to break my heart; The lightest impulse To her was more dear than the deep-toned temple bell. She fluttered to my sword-hilt an instant, And then flew away; But who will spend all day chasing a butterfly?
Swift waves hissing Under the moonlight; Tarnished silver.
Swaying boats Under the moonlight, Gold lacquered prows.
Is it a vision Under the moonlight? No, it is only A beautiful geisha swaying down the street.
Out of the rings and the bubbles, The curls and the swirls of the water, Out of the crystalline shower of drops shattered in play, Her body and her thoughts arose.
She dreamed of some lover To whom she might offer her body Fresh and cool as a flower born in the rain.
In their bark of bamboo reeds The heavenly poetesses Float across the sky.
Poems are falling from them Swift as the wind that shakes the lance-like bamboo leaves; The stars close around like bubbles Stirred by the silver oars of poems passing.
Beware, for the dying vine can hold The strongest oak.
Only by cutting at the root Can love be altered.
Late in the night A rosy glimmer yet defies the darkness.
But the evening is growing late, The blinds are being lowered; She who held your heart and charmed you Is only a rosy glimmer of flame remembered.
My thoughts are sparrows passing Through one great wave that breaks In bubbles of gold on a black motionless rock.
Rain rattles on the pavement, Puddles stand in the bluish stones; Afar in the Yoshiwara Is she who holds my heart.
Alas, the torn lantern of my hope Trembles and sputters in the rain.
I saw him pass at twilight; He was a dark cloud travelling Over palace roofs With one claw drooping.
In his face were written ages Of patient treachery And the knowledge of his hour.
One dainty thrust, no more Than this, he needs.
His heart is like a wind Torn between cloud and butterfly; Whether he will roll passively to one, Or chase endlessly the other.
My love for her at first was like the smoke that drifts Across the marshes From burning woods.
But, after she had gone, It was like the lotus that lifts up Its heart shaped buds from the dim waters.
My heart is mournful as thunder moving Through distant hills Late on a long still night of autumn.
My heart is broken and mournful As rain heard beating Far off in the distance While earth is parched more near.
On my heart is the black badge of exile; I droop over it, I accept its shame.
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