No More Learning

You are brighter than apples,
Sweeter than tulips,
You are the great flood of our souls
Bursting above the leaf-shapes of our hearts,
You are the smell of all Summers,
The love of wives and children,
The recollection of the gardens of little children,
You are State Houses and Charters
And the familiar treading of the foot to and fro on a road it knows.
May is lilac here in New England,
May is a thrush singing "Sun up! " on a tip-top ash-tree,
May is white clouds behind pine-trees
Puffed out and marching upon a blue sky.
May is a green as no other,
May is much sun through small leaves,
May is soft earth,
And apple-blossoms,
And windows open to a South wind.
May is a full light wind of lilac
From Canada to Narragansett Bay.

Lilacs,
False blue,
White,
Purple,
Color of lilac,
Heart-leaves of lilac all over New England,
Roots of lilac under all the soil of New England,
Lilac in me because I am New England,
Because my roots are in it,
Because my leaves are of it,
Because my flowers are for it,
Because it is my country
And I speak to it of itself
And sing of it with my own voice
Since certainly it is mine.




TWENTY-FOUR HOKKU ON A MODERN THEME


I

Again the larkspur,
Heavenly blue in my garden.
They, at least, unchanged.


II

How have I hurt you?
You look at me with pale eyes,
But these are my tears.


III

Morning and evening--
Yet for us once long ago
Was no division.


IV

I hear many words.
Set an hour when I may come
Or remain silent.


V

In the ghostly dawn
I write new words for your ears--
Even now you sleep.


VI

This then is morning.
Have you no comfort for me
Cold-colored flowers?


VII

My eyes are weary
Following you everywhere.
Short, oh short, the days!


VIII

When the flower falls
The leaf is no more cherished.
Every day I fear.


IX

Even when you smile
Sorrow is behind your eyes.
Pity me, therefore.


X

Laugh--it is nothing.
To others you may seem gay,
I watch with grieved eyes.


XI

Take it, this white rose.
Stems of roses do not bleed;
Your fingers are safe.


XII

As a river-wind
Hurling clouds at a bright moon,
So am I to you.


XIII

Watching the iris,
The faint and fragile petals--
How am I worthy?


XIV

Down a red river
I drift in a broken skiff.
Are you then so brave?


XV

Night lies beside me
Chaste and cold as a sharp sword.