I am only a note in the chorus,
A leaf in the fluttering June,
A wave on the deep.
These things that I struggle to utter
Have all been uttered before.
In many another heart
The selfsame song was born,
The ancient ache endured,
The timeless wonder faced,
The unanswered question nursed,
The resurgent hunger felt,
And the eternal failure known!
But glad is the lip of its whisper;
The wave, of its life;
The leaf, of its lisp;
And glad for its hour is my soul
There is happiness for me,
In sight of a great sun-warmed tree.
I pray that roots may touch my head,
When I am dead.
Maybe there is some splendid rhythm in confusion,
And there is hope in dissolution.
I should have little fear of ugly changes, little grief.
If the material of my thought were quick transmuted to a leaf.
Tell me is there anything lovelier,
Anything more quieting
Than the green of little blades of grass
And the green of little leaves?
Is not each leaf a cool green hand,
Is not each blade of grass a mothering green finger,
Hushing the heart that beats and beats and beats?
As I crossed over the bridge of Ariwarano Narikira,
I saw that the waters were purple
With the floating leaves of maples.
Is it a dragonfly or a maple leaf
That settles softly down upon the water ?
Being thirsty,
I filled a cup with water.
And, behold ! Fuji-yama lay upon the water
Like a dropped leaf !
All day I have watched the purple vine leaves
Fall into the water.
And now in the moonlight they still fall.
But each leaf is fringed with silver.
Deborah and Christopher brought me dandelions,
Kenton brought me buttercups with summer on
their breath,
But Michael brought an autumn leaf, like lacy
filigree,
A wan leaf, a ghost leaf, beautiful as death.
Death in all loveliness, fragile and exquisite,
Who but he would choose it from all the blossoming
land?
Who but he would find it where it hid among the
flowers?
Death in all loveliness, he laid it in my hand.