Road to the Yoshiwara
Coming to you along the Nihon Embankment,
Suddenly the road was darkened
By a flock of wild geese
Crossing the moon.
Poems on the topic: longing
Poems on the topic “longing” on Poets.by.
Little Ivory Figures Pulled with String
Is it the tinkling of mandolins which disturbs you ?
Or the dropping of bitter-orange petals among the coffee-cups ?
Or the slow creeping of the moonlight between the olive-trees ?
Drop ! drop ! the rain
Upon the thin plates of my heart.
String your blood to chord with this music,
Stir your heels upon the cobbles to the rhythm of a dance-tune.
They have slim thighs and arms of silver ;
The moon washes away their garments ;
They make a pattern of fleeing feet in the branch shadows.
And the green grapes knotted about them
Burst as they press against one another.
The rain knocks upon the plates of my heart.
They are crumpled with its beating.
Would you drink only from your brains, Old Man ?
Trees
The branches of the trees lie in layers
Above and behind each other.
And the sun strikes on the outstanding leaves
And turns them white.
And they dance like a splatter of pebbles
Against a green wall.
The trees make a solid path leading up in the air.
It looks as though I could walk upon it
If I only had courage to step out of the window.
Mountains
Over the green and level land
My sad eyes wander without hope ;
Here no rejoicing mountains stand,
No strong and friendly slope.
But ever when I close my eyes
Tall mountains rear their stately forms.
Against the sky I watch them rise,
Serene in calm or storms.
One in the distance rises blue,
Haloed by morning's earliest beams.
This was the peak my childhood knew.
About her clung my dreams.
Over her pallor fell the snow,
The hot sun scorched her fertile breast.
But in the summer lightning's glow
I always loved her best.
In Spring
I do not know which is worse when you are away:
Long grey days with the lisping sound of the rain
And then when the lilac dusk is beginning to fall
The thought that perhaps you may never come back again ;
Or days when the world is a shimmer of blue and gold,
Sparkling newly all in the dear spring weather,
When with a heart that is torn apart by pain
I walk alone in ways that we went together.
Rain-prayer
A broken ploughed field
In the driving rain,
Rain driven slant-wise
Over the plain.
I long for the rain.
The dull long rain.
For farmlands and ploughlands
And cornlands again.
O grey broken skies.
You were part of my pain !
Sonnet 135: Whoever hath her wish, thou hast thy 'Will,'
Whoever hath her wish, thou hast thy 'Will,'
And 'Will' to boot, and 'Will' in over-plus;
More than enough am I that vex'd thee still,
To thy sweet will making addition thus.
Wilt thou, whose will is large and spacious,
Not once vouchsafe to hide my will in thine?
Shall will in others seem right gracious,
And in my will no fair acceptance shine?
The sea, all water, yet receives rain still,
And in abundance addeth to his store;
So thou, being rich in 'Will,' add to thy 'Will'
One will of mine, to make thy large will more.
Let no unkind 'No' fair beseechers kill;
Think all but one, and me in that one 'Will.'
Sonnet 75: So are you to my thoughts as food to life
So are you to my thoughts as food to life,
Or as sweet-season'd showers are to the ground;
And for the peace of you I hold such strife
As 'twixt a miser and his wealth is found.
Now proud as an enjoyer, and anon
Doubting the filching age will steal his treasure;
Now counting best to be with you alone,
Then better'd that the world may see my pleasure:
Sometime all full with feasting on your sight,
And by and by clean starved for a look;
Possessing or pursuing no delight,
Save what is had, or must from you be took.
Thus do I pine and surfeit day by day,
Or gluttoning on all, or all away.
Sonnet 56: Sweet love, renew thy force; be it not said
Sweet love, renew thy force; be it not said
Thy edge should blunter be than appetite,
Which but to-day by feeding is allay'd,
To-morrow sharpened in his former might:
So, love, be thou, although to-day thou fill
Thy hungry eyes, even till they wink with fulness,
To-morrow see again, and do not kill
The spirit of love, with a perpetual dulness.
Let this sad interim like the ocean be
Which parts the shore, where two contracted new
Come daily to the banks, that when they see
Return of love, more blest may be the view;
Or call it winter, which being full of care,
Makes summer's welcome, thrice more wished, more rare.
Sonnet 39: O! how thy worth with manners may I sing
O! how thy worth with manners may I sing,
When thou art all the better part of me?
What can mine own praise to mine own self bring?
And what is't but mine own when I praise thee?
Even for this, let us divided live,
And our dear love lose name of single one,
That by this separation I may give
That due to thee which thou deserv'st alone.
O absence! what a torment wouldst thou prove,
Were it not thy sour leisure gave sweet leave,
To entertain the time with thoughts of love,
Which time and thoughts so sweetly doth deceive,
And that thou teachest how to make one twain,
By praising him here who doth hence remain.
Sonnet 28: How can I then return in happy plight
How can I then return in happy plight,
That am debarre'd the benefit of rest?
When day's oppression is not eas'd by night,
But day by night and night by day oppress'd,
And each, though enemies to either's reign,
Do in consent shake hands to torture me,
The one by toil, the other to complain
How far I toil, still farther off from thee.
I tell the day, to please him thou art bright,
And dost him grace when clouds do blot the heaven:
So flatter I the swart-complexion'd night,
When sparkling stars twire not thou gild'st the even.
But day doth daily draw my sorrows longer,
And night doth nightly make grief's length seem stronger.
Sonnet 51: Thus can my love excuse the slow offence
Thus can my love excuse the slow offence
Of my dull bearer when from thee I speed:
From where thou art why should I haste me thence?
Till I return, of posting is no need.
O! what excuse will my poor beast then find,
When swift extremity can seem but slow?
Then should I spur, though mounted on the wind,
In winged speed no motion shall I know,
Then can no horse with my desire keep pace;
Therefore desire, of perfect'st love being made,
Shall neigh--no dull flesh--in his fiery race;
But love, for love, thus shall excuse my jade,--
'Since from thee going, he went wilful-slow,
Towards thee I'll run, and give him leave to go.'
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