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The moon…pursuing sea； to come again。
Their hearts are blown away on the hot breeze。
Only the shells and stones can wait to be
Washed bright。 For living things； who suffer pain；
May not endure till time can bring them ease。
Happiness
Happiness； to some； elation；
Is； to others； mere stagnation。
Days of passive somnolence；
At its wildest； indolence。
Hours of empty quietness；
No delight； and no distress。
Happiness to me is wine；
Effervescent； superfine。
Full of tang and fiery pleasure；
Far too hot to leave me leisure
For a single thought beyond it。
Drunk！ Forgetful！ This the bond： it
Means to give one's soul to gain
Life's quintessence。 Even pain
Pricks to livelier living； then
Wakes the nerves to laugh again；
Rapture's self is three parts sorrow。
Although we must die to…morrow；
Losing every thought but this；
Torn； triumphant； drowned in bliss。
Happiness： We rarely feel it。
I would buy it； beg it； steal it；
Pay in coins of dripping blood
For this one transcendent good。
The Last Quarter of the Moon
How long shall I tarnish the mirror of life；
A spatter of rust on its polished steel！
The seasons reel
Like a goaded wheel。
Half…numb； half…maddened； my days are strife。
The night is sliding towards the dawn；
And upturned hills crouch at autumn's knees。
A torn moon flees
Through the hemlock trees；
The hours have gnawed it to feed their spawn。
Pursuing and jeering the misshapen thing
A rabble of clouds flares out of the east。
Like dogs unleashed
After a beast；
They stream on the sky； an outflung string。
A desolate wind； through the unpeopled dark；
Shakes the bushes and whistles through empty nests；
And the fierce unrests
I keep as guests
Crowd my brain with corpses； pallid and stark。
Leave me in peace； O Spectres； who haunt
My labouring mind； I have fought and failed。
I have not quailed；
I was all unmailed
And naked I strove； 'tis my only vaunt。
The moon drops into the silver day
As waking out of her swoon she comes。
I hear the drums
Of millenniums
Beating the mornings I still must stay。
The years I must watch go in and out；
While I build with water； and dig in air；
And the trumpets blare
Hollow despair；
The shuddering trumpets of utter rout。
An atom tossed in a chaos made
Of yeasting worlds； which bubble and foam。
Whence have I come？
What would be home？
I hear no answer。 I am afraid！
I crave to be lost like a wind…blown flame。
Pushed into nothingness by a breath；
And quench in a wreath
Of engulfing death
This fight for a God； or this devil's game。
A Tale of Starvation
There once was a man whom the gods didn't love；
And a disagreeable man was he。
He loathed his neighbours； and his neighbours hated him；
And he cursed eternally。
He damned the sun； and he damned the stars；
And he blasted the winds in the sky。
He sent to Hell every green； growing thing；
And he raved at the birds as they fly。
His oaths were many； and his range was wide；
He swore in fancy ways；
But his meaning was plain： that no created thing
Was other than a hurt to his gaze。
He dwelt all alone； underneath a leaning hill；
And windows toward the hill there were none；
And on the other side they were white…washed thick；
To keep out every spark of the sun。
When he went to market he walked all the way
Blaspheming at the path he trod。
He cursed at those he bought of； and swore at those he sold to；
By all the names he knew of God。
For his heart was soured in his weary old hide；
And his hopes had curdled in his breast。
His friend had been untrue； and his love had thrown him over
For the chinking money…bags she liked best。
The rats had devoured the contents of his grain…bin；
The deer had trampled on his corn；
His brook had shrivelled in a summer drought；
And his sheep had died unshorn。
His hens wouldn't lay； and his cow broke loose；
And his old horse perished of a colic。
In the loft his wheat…bags were nibbled into holes
By little； glutton mice on a frolic。
So he slowly lost all he ever had；
And the blood in his body dried。
Shrunken and mean he still lived on；
And cursed that future which had lied。
One day he was digging； a spade or two；
As his aching back could lift；
When he saw something glisten at the bottom of the trench；
And to get it out he made great shift。
So he dug； and he delved； with care and pain；
And the veins in his forehead stood taut。
At the end of an hour； when every bone cracked；
He gathered up what he had sought。
A dim old vase of crusted glass；
Prismed while it lay buried deep。
Shifting reds and greens； like a pigeon's neck；
At the touch of the sun began to leap。
It was dull in the tree…shade； but glowing in the light；
Flashing like an opal…stone；
Carved into a flagon； and the colours glanced and ran；
Where at first there had seemed to be none。
It had handles on each side to bear it up；
And a belly for the gurgling wine。
Its neck was slender； and its mouth was wide；
And its lip was curled and fine。
The old man saw it in the sun's bright stare
And the colours started up through the crust；
And he who had cursed at the yellow sun
Held the flask to it and wiped away the dust。
And he bore the flask to the brightest spot；
Where the shadow of the hill fell clear；
And he turned the flask； and he looked at the flask；
And the sun shone without his sneer。
Then he carried it home； and put it on a shelf；
But it was only grey in the gloom。
So he fetched a pail； and a bit of cloth；
And he went outside with a broom。
And he washed his windows just to let the sun
Lie upon his new…found vase；
And when evening came； he moved it down
And put it on a table near the place
Where a candle fluttered in a draught from the door。
The old man forgot to swear；
Watching its shadow grown a mammoth size；
Dancing in the kitchen there。
He forgot to revile the sun next morning
When he found his vase afire in its light。
And he carried it out of the house that day；
And kept it close beside him until night。
And so it happened from day to day。
The old man fed his life
On the beauty of his vase； on its perfect shape。
And his soul forgot its former strife。
And the village…folk came and begged to see
The flagon which was dug from the ground。
And the old man never thought of an oath； in his joy
At showing what he had found。
One day the master of the village school
Passed him as he stooped at toil；
Hoeing for a bean…row； and at his side
Was the vase； on the turned…up soil。
〃My friend；〃 said the schoolmaster； pompous and kind；
〃That's a valuable thing you have there；
But it might get broken out of doors；
It should meet