I would have brought you fire for those nights
When you were cold and lonely and in doubt.
I would have brought you laughter for your tears
And given you new dreams to dream about.
But look away, your eyes are much too bright,
And sorrow has lent beauty to your face,
And should I cast aside this cloak of years
And live forever after in disgrace--
It is an old temptation sprung anew,
Yet must not be.
Ah, look at me and you shall see
I am, my love, as miserable as you!
a hook for an eye
this ribbon for a slip
there’s a pigeon in the pot
and tree makes the room
your foot on the boards
your head in the sky
no mind if your stockings snag
are splinter-caught
the red thread
frayed or snag
walk now on swollen feet
on feet that are bound-in
with red and orange
with stocking threads
these can be mended
these can be made whole again
Sometimes I hear fine ladies sing,
Sometimes I smoke and drink with men;
Sometimes I play at games of cards--
Judge me to be no strong man then.
The strongest moment of my life
Is when I think about the poor;
When, like a spring that rain has fed,
My pity rises more and more.
The flower that loves the warmth and light,
Has all its mornings bathed in dew;
My heart has moments wet with tears,
My weakness is they are so few.
Beneath my chamber window
Pierrot was singing, singing;
I heard his lute the whole night thru
Until the east was red.
Alas, alas, Pierrot,
I had no rose for flinging
Save one that drank my tears for dew
Before its leaves were dead.
I found it in the darkness,
I kissed it once and threw it,
The petals scattered over him,
His song was turned to joy;
And he will never know--
Alas, the one who knew it!--
The rose was plucked when dusk was dim
Beside a laughing boy.
The lips so often frame a smile
While the eyes in salt tears swim
And heart, repellent cup of bile,
Is filled to kiss the brim.
Oft firm and stern we find a face,
Devoid of outward sign,
A mask before the dwelling place
Of happiness divine.
By the pool of life
Willows are drooping tonight
I can see no stars.
What dances in the water?
O my clouds dripping with tears.
In the very early morning
Long before Dawn time
I lay down in the paddock
And listened to the cold song of the grass.
Between my fingers the green blades,
And the green blades pressed against my body.
“Who is she leaning so heavily upon me?”
Sang the grass.
“Why does she weep on my bosom,
Mingling her tears with the tears of my mystic lover?
Foolish little earth child!
It is not yet time.
One day I shall open my bosom
And you shall slip in--but not weeping.
Then in the early morning
Long before Dawn time
The breath of life imbued those few dim days!
Yet all we had was this,--
A flashing smile, a touch of hands, and once
A fleeting kiss.
Blank futile death inheres these years between!
Still naught have you and I
But frozen tears, and stifled words, and once
A sharp caught cry.
Smiles do not always echo cheer,
Nor tear-drops measure grief,
For sorrow seeks a gilded mask,
And joy in tears, relief.
O little lady with the yellow fan
Why are you so sad?
Why does a tear stand
Like a tea-flower bud upon your cheek?
Your dress is of blue and scarlet silk,
Your slippers are embroidered with gems,
A gold and emerald butterfly has lighted in your hair,
Your serving-maid stands near
Awaiting your command,
And if you lifted but one slender finger
A chariot would come and carry you away to your father's palace.
Why are you so sad?
It is because the ships beside the shore
Spread their dark sails to the sea-blowing breeze;
The tide is high, and soon will set toward the distant islands,
And there is a gleam of swords and armour,
Maiden, these are sacred tears,
Let me not disturb your grief!
Had I but your bosom's fears
I should weep, nor seek relief.
My woe is a silent woe
'Til I give it measured rhyme,
When the blackbird's flute is low
In my heart at singing time.
The rose lay dying in the summer heat
And longed to save her life so fair and brief.
A dryad, bathing in the noonday sun,
Spied her and dropped a tear to show her grief.
The panting bloom drank deep the sweetening drop-
And lived an hour to deck a singer's wreath.