A moon gate in my wall: собрание стихотворений

If I had but a little common sense,
I would forsake you, 1 would travel hence
and maybe see, in lovely places, far,
that you were not the sky's most brilliant star.

Perhaps on lofty mountains I would seek

the flaming flower of the snow-clad peak,
or on some island in the sunny sea
forget the words that you have said to me.

There are so many wonders I could find,

that life would yet be bountiful and kind,
and going so I should not drop a tear,
— if I had sense…
But I have none, my dear.

Shanghai, 23 Oct. 1934

515. «It's not because you leave me that I weep…»

It's not because you leave me that I weep,
nor am I broken just because we part, —
but that the coin of friendship proved so cheap,
and that your word meant nothing in your heart.

Leave me now, go; I will not need you more.

Travel your way, while I shall walk my own;
Let not your conscience worry on my score:
I may be even stronger so, alone.

But should I ever meet you later on —

tired and sick and begging me for bread
with all your luck and earthly glories gone —
better for you if one of us were dead,
for I may turn and give a stone instead.

Shanghai, [1934]

516. To a Man Named Smith

Once in this world of mountain, wood and plain
my road crossed yours. We will not meet again.
But as a dawn breaks open sunlit skies —
so once we looked into each other's eyes.

In that brief hour the words we spoke were few,

and when you went, and I lost sight of you
still all the birds were trilling, and the day
shone just as golden as I walked my way.

Poor foolish heart — why should it cry and cry

because you crossed the verv hour as I?

Shanghai, [1934]

517. «Quiet the waters were, — do you recall?..»

Quiet the waters were, — do you recall? —
quietly did the waters rise and roll
in low and gentle swells, when one fine day
you dropped your anchor in my slumbering bay.

Softly the breezes from the western sky

swept over silent sands where you and I
gazed at the sea — and not a shadow fell,
nor came a cloud to break the golden spell.

How can I wonder now, with you no more,

that black the waters rise, and roar, and roar?

23 Feb. 1936

518. «High in the mountains, where the grass is cool…»