The shower's bright water overflows In a pure rain.

She lifts one arm into an urgent line, Cooling her rose fingers On the grey metal of the spray.

If I could choose my service, I would be the shower Dashing over her in the sunlight.

_From the Chinese of J.S. Ling (1901)._

A VIRTUOUS WIFE

One moment I place your two bright pearls against my robe, And the red silk mirrors a rose in each.

Why did I not meet you before I married?

See, there are two tears quivering at my lids; I am giving back your pearls.

_From the Chinese of Chang Chi (770-850)._

WRITTEN ON A WALL IN SPRING

It rained last night, But fair weather has come back This morning.

The green cl.u.s.ters of the palm-trees Open and begin to throw shadows.

But sorrow drifts slowly down about me.

I come and go in my room, Heart-heavy with memories.

The neighbour green casts shadows of green On my blind; The moss, soaked in dew, Takes the least print Like delicate velvet.

I see again a gauze tunic of oranged rose With shadowy underclothes of grenade red.

How things still live again.

I go and sit by the day bal.u.s.trade

And do nothing

Except count the plains And the mountains And the valleys And the rivers That separate from my Spring.

_From the Chinese (early nineteenth century)._

A POET THINKS

The rain is due to fall, The wind blows softly.

The branches of the cinnamon are moving, The begonias stir on the green mounds.

Bright are the flying leaves, The falling flowers are many.

The wind lifted the dry dust, And he is lifting the wet dust; Here and there the wind moves everything

He pa.s.ses under light gauze And touches me.

I am alone with the beating of my heart.

There are leagues of sky, And the water is flowing very fast.

Why do the birds let their feathers Fall among the clouds?

I would have them carry my letters, But the sky is long.

The stream flows east And not one wave comes back with news.

The scented magnolias are shining still, But always a few are falling.

I close his box on my guitar of jasper And lay aside my jade flute.

I am alone with the beating of my heart.

Stay with me to-night, Old songs.

_From the Chinese of Liu Chi (1311-1375)._

IN THE COLD NIGHT

Reading in my book this cold night, I have forgotten to go to sleep.

The perfumes have died on the gilded bed-cover; The last smoke must have left the hearth When I was not looking.

My beautiful friend s.n.a.t.c.hes away the lamp.

Do you know what the time is?

_From the Chinese of Yuan Mei (1715-1797)._

_DAGHESTAN_

WINTER COMES