Oh, those high waters are rising;
They've spilled their banks in flood,
Slouching toward the Tree of Life:
Its roots immersed in mud.
That tree is just so stout & straight --
Unambitious of height --
Not man nor beast could knock it down,
Regardless of their might.
But just a long soak of its roots --
A gift of too much good --
And then a well-timed gust of wind
Will turn that tree to wood.
Forever -- is composed of Nows --
'Tis not a different time --
Except for Infiniteness --
And Latitude of Home --
From this -- experienced Here --
Remove the Dates -- to These --
Let Months dissolve in further Months --
And Years -- exhale in Years --
Without Debate -- or Pause --
Or Celebrated Days --
No different Our Years would be
From Anno Dominies --
It was many and many a year ago,
In a kingdom by the sea,
That a maiden there lived whom you may know
By the name of Annabel Lee;
And this maiden she lived with no other thought
Than to love and be loved by me.
I was a child and she was a child,
In this kingdom by the sea,
But we loved with a love that was more than love --
I and my Annabel Lee --
With a love that the winged seraphs of Heaven
Coveted her and me.
And this was the reason that, long ago,
In this kingdom by the sea,
A wind blew out of a cloud, chilling
My beautiful Annabel Lee;
So that her highborn kinsman came
And bore her away from me,
To shut her up in a sepulchre
In this kingdom by the sea.
The angels, not half so happy in Heaven,
Went envying her and me ---
Yes! -- that was the reason (as all men know,
In this kingdom by the sea)
That the wind came out of the cloud by night,
Chilling and killing my Annabel Lee.
But our love it was stronger by far than the love
Of those who were older than we --
Of many far wiser than we --
And neither the angels in Heaven above
Nor the demons down under the sea
Can ever dissever my soul from the soul
Of the beautiful Annabel Lee;
For the moon never beams, without bringing me dreams
Of the beautiful Annabel Lee;
And the stars never rise, but I feel the bright eyes
Of the beautiful Annabel Lee;
And so, all the night-tide, I lie down by the side
Of my darling -- my darling -- my life and my bride,
In her sepulchre there by the sea --
In her tomb by the sounding sea.
Parks and ponds are good by day;
I do not delight
In black acres of the night,
Nor my unseasoned step disturbs
The sleeps of trees or dreams of herbs.
View flowers like a bandit;
Let nature flow through you,
Breathing in the Great Way
As you let your crazy brew.
Wander like the free winds --
Sea and mountain in gray-blue.
Feel true power overflow,
As all nature lives through you.
Before: sun, moon, and stars;
Behind: the one from two.
By dawn, sea turtles have gone,
Soak your feet where they withdrew.
NOTE: The late Tang Dynasty poet, Sikong Tu (a.k.a. Ssŭ-k‘ung T‘u,) wrote an ars poetica entitled Twenty-Four Styles of Poetry. It presents twenty-four poems that are each in a different tone, reflecting varied concepts from Taoist philosophy and aesthetics. Above is a crude translation of the eleventh of the twenty-four poems. This poem’s Chinese title is 豪放, which has been translated to “Free,” “Set Free,” and “Broad-minded” in various English language translations.
Harlem Shadows by Claude McKay
"Love seeketh not itself to please,
Nor for itself hath any care,
But for another gives its ease,
And builds a Heaven in Hell's despair."
So sung a little Clod of Clay
Trodden with the cattle's feet,
But a Pebble of the brook
Warbled out these metres meet:
"Love seeketh only self to please,
To bind another to its delight,
Joys in another's loss of ease,
And builds a Hell in Heaven's despite."
Fame is a bee.
It has a song --
It has a sting --
Ah, too, it has a wing.
Some say they miss days of wonder,
But I think I see their blunder.
Those thrilling days, they never left;
It's something of one's soul, bereft.
That fatal flaw of lacking awe
Is from not seeing, cause you saw.
When one makes god of wealth,
Light glows from yellow "gold,"
But the lavish withers --
Even as its deeps take hold.
Fog at the river's edge.
Red apricots, woods enfold.
Moon shine on bower's flowers.
Painted bridge in green shadow.
An old bowl full of wine,
As a friend's lute song unfolds.
Make your bliss of such things,
And they will be your true gold.
NOTE: The late Tang Dynasty poet, Sikong Tu (a.k.a. Ssŭ-k‘ung T‘u,) wrote an ars poetica entitled Twenty-Four Styles of Poetry. It presents twenty-four poems that are each in a different tone, reflecting varied concepts from Taoist philosophy and aesthetics. Above is a crude translation of the ninth of the twenty-four poems. This poem’s Chinese title is 绮丽, and its translated titles include: “Beautiful,” “Intricate,” and “Embroideries.”
Tiger Riding for Beginners 