A moon gate in my wall: собрание стихотворений

High in the mountains, where the grass is cool,
we tied our horses by an emerald pool,
and as they drank, as they neighed in glee,
we two sat motionless, and speechless, — we.

Upon the shining flanks of your black steed

you watched the water flicker, bead by bead;
you never raised your eyes, yet well you knew —
that all the while 1 only thought of you.

Dear dream forgotten, dream that was so frail!

The evening sky was cloudless, calm and pale —
could I have guessed, as we resumed that trail,

that every star would wane, and every stream

run dry and silent, as in a by-gone dream?

23 Feb. 1936

519. Falling Star

Star as you fell through the blue evening air
when I stood watching you, silent and thrilled,
I was supposed to have breathed a word of prayer
that some deep wish I had might be fulfilled.

But, star, oh, — white, round star, — I saw you fall,

breathlessly saw the light behind you trailed,
and I forgot the earth I trod, and all
earthly desires and wishes, — and I failed…

Bitter my sorrow now, and sore regret

not to have grasped the chance the day it came!
But such was your swift sudden spell, that yet
if others fell — I still would do the same!

Shanghai, [1936]

520. «I'm often dreaming…»

I'm often dreaming
that I unfurl
my tall wings, gleaming
like mother-of-pearl,

and cut my tether,

and take to flight,
with each small feather
glistening white;

but, oh, I waken,

and, to atone,
breathless and shaken
fall, like a stone,

and see — a token

of earthly things —
they're broken —
my shining wings!

[1936]

521. «I am a stranger here. Leave me alone…» [233]

I am a stranger here. Leave me alone.
My eyes are tired of your streets of stone,
your tower houses; I am used to wood
and hill and meadows and to solitude.

All now is ended — all the wild birds flown,

and stars burnt out which had so brightly shone —
all the tall stately firs stand bare and dead
and silent lies each empty riverbed.

Only the still brown rocks, moss-covered, keep

their watch where silver wavelets curl and creep,
and that same sky, sunless and cold and grey,
hangs, — as the morning when I sailed away.

Shanghai, 1936–1937

522. «I hope from where you sit or lie…» [234]

Norma Jean