My song has put off her adornments.
She has no pride of dress and decoration.
Ornaments would mar our union;
they would come between thee and me;
their jingling would drown thy whispers.
My poet's vanity dies in shame before thy sight.
O master poet, I have sat down at thy feet.
Only let me make my life simple and straight,
like a flute of reed for thee to fill with music.
NOTE: This poem is sometimes titled, “My song has put off her adornments,” or – simply – Song VII.
the hills are greening,
after days of endless rain;
the landscape, edgeless.
the herd grazes
as Spring rains start to fall;
none looks up.
beyond the city,
a massive mountain looms,
pretending to be clouds.
I have been one acquainted with the night.
I have walked out in rain -- and back in rain.
I have outwalked the furthest city light.
I have looked down the saddest city lane.
I have passed by the watchman on his beat
And dropped my eyes, unwilling to explain.
I have stood still and stopped the sound of feet
When far away an interrupted cry
Came over houses from another street,
But not to call me back or say good-bye;
And further still at an unearthly height,
One luminary clock against the sky
Proclaimed the time was neither wrong nor right.
I have been one acquainted with the night.
from across the bay,
the skyline looks dim; then, it's
glowing on your face.
pink flowers cascade
over a quiet pond:
feels like Spring
At day's end, feeling ill-at-ease,
Riding a cart to the plateau.
The setting sun fires glorious skies,
But a yellow dusk is coming.
