Of what use is the poet’s poem,
Of what use is the bowman’s dart,
Unless another’s senses reel
When it sticks quivering in the heart?

***

“Do not go”, I could say; but this is inauspicious
“All right go” is a loveless thing to say.
“Stay with me” is imperious. “Do as you wish” suggests
Cold indifference. And if I say I will die
When you are gone”, you might or might not believe me.
Teach me my husband, what I ought to say
When you go away.

***

Her face is not the moon, nor are her eyes
Twin lotuses, nor are her arms pure gold:
She’s flesh and bone. What lies the poets told!
Ah, but we love her, we believe the lies.

***

You are pale, friend moon, and do not sleep at night,
And day by day you waste away.
Can it be that you also
Think only of her as I do?

***

Destiny surely is unjust.
The bees it has decreed,
Shall feast on lotus-honey and sweet pollen-dust.
On water-weed
The geese must
Feed.

***

Philosphers are surely wrong to say
That attibutes in substance must inhere.
Her beauty burns my heart; yet I am here,
And she is far away.

***

A poet who has not tasted grief
Can mourn in fiction, and command belief.
A man who mourns in truth has no such art
To find words for a broken heart.
When he saw her,
He was struck by the arrows of love.
Nor could he save himself by shutting his eyes:
For he was a young man of an enquiring mind.
And so he was forced to examine the problem
In greater detail
Of how the Creator
Had come to make
A figure like hers.

***

Moonlight face,
Flower-bud hand,
Nectar voice,
Rose-red lip:
Stone-hard heart

***

If you can look into her wide black eyes
Unmoved, observe her laughing brows and keep
Your wits about you_I express surprise,
But honour you as you deserve, poor sheep.

***