Poems (Probyn)/Miniature odes (japanese)
MINIATURE ODES.(Japanese.)
The moon had set, and flown the bird of night;A scent of roses hovered on the air;Love seemed a dream,—because you were not there,—Sweet—I like the roses blowing out of sight.
Oh! cowslips, that we gathered honey-hearted,And straightway strung them in a globe of gold—Still grow ye there, or have ye all departed,If we should seek you in those fields of old?
Each tune we knew we fiddled one by one,Until we reached the tune that rang most sweet—And "This," we said, "each day will we repeat"—Then the strings broke, and all the tunes were done.
We saw the stars, while still the night was young,Like golden fruit among the leaves that hung—We climbed the tree to reach them—and, behold!We have not touched them yet—and we are old.
"Cuckoo!" the call came through the meadow ways,And "hark!" they cried, "the joy-note, Spring again!"But we—we only heard the April rain,And cuckoo-calls that came from other days.
The rose is picked—and still you bid me linger—What mean your whispers, and the blush between?"Only to take this thorn out of your finger?"That only—? Is there nothing else you mean?