PICTURES OF THE FLOATING WORLD

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1919
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Page 94 - A DECADE WHEN you came, you were like red wine and honey, And the taste of you burnt my mouth with its sweetness. Now you are like morning bread, Smooth and pleasant. I hardly taste you at all for I know your savour, But I am completely nourished.
Page 107 - of your two swords. I would sit in a covered boat, Rocking slowly to the narrow waves of a river, While above us, an arc of moving lanterns, Curved a bridge. And beyond the bridge, A hiss of gold Blooming out of blackness, Rockets exploded, And died in a soft dripping of
Page 108 - And their falling stars hung silent in the sky Like wistaria clusters above the ancient entrance of a temple. I would anything Rather than this cold paper, With, outside, the quiet sun on the sides of burgeoning branches, And inside, only my books.
Page 8 - could see to write you a letter. To A HUSBAND BRIGHTER than fireflies upon the Uji River Are your words in the dark, Beloved. THE FISHERMAN'S WIFE WHEN I am alone, The wind in the pine-trees Is like the shuffling of waves Upon the wooden sides of a boat. FROM
Page 58 - MY thoughts BULLION Chink against my ribs And roll about like silver hail-stones. I should like to spill them out, And pour them, all shining, Over you. But my heart is shut upon them And holds them straitly. Come, You ! and open my heart ; That my thoughts torment me no longer, But glitter in your
Page 7 - A YEAR PASSES BEYOND the porcelain fence of the pleasure garden, I hear the frogs in the blue-green rice-fields ; But the sword-shaped moon Has cut my heart in two. A LOVER IF I could catch the green lantern of the firefly 1 could see to write you a letter. To A
Page 107 - bridge, A hiss of gold Blooming out of blackness, Rockets exploded, And died in a soft dripping of coloured stars. We would float between the high trestles, And drift away from the other boats, Until the rockets flared
Page 98 - as the sun rises. When I scarcely see you in the flat moonlight, And later when my cold roots tighten, I am anxious for the morning, I cannot rest in fear of what may happen. You or I — and I am a coward. Surely frost should take the crimson. Purple is a finer
Page 70 - Steady drip of horses' hoofs on hard pavement ; A black sky lacquered over with blueness, And the lights of Battersea Bridge Pricking pale in the dawn. The beautiful hours are passing And still you sleep ! Tired heart of my joy, Incurved upon your dreams, Will the day come before you have opened to me
Page 87 - A SPRIG OF ROSEMARY I CANNOT see your face. When I think of you, It is your hands which I see. Your hands Sewing, Holding a book, Resting for a moment on the sill of a window. My eyes keep always the sight of your hands, But my heart holds the sound of your voice, And the soft brightness which is your soul.

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