* * *
If every loving thought and look
Became a lyric line,
There’d be no bigger poetry book
On themes of love, than mine.
But still the book is small—what’s worse,
I’m writing nothing new:
Whatever time I have for verse
I’d rather spend with you.
WHILE EARTH ROTATES
Like water, I have drunk the sun.
I’ve climbed year after year
To see its orb of scarlet rise,
And set, as night draws near.
I’ve drunk the stars from mountain streams,
From sources crisp and cold,
In regions where each summit gleams
And hearts are proud and bold.
I’ve taken the blue heaven’s cup
In meadows where I’ve drowsed,
To drink the air that filters there
Through sweet, refreshing clouds.
I’ve drunk pure snow where footpaths go
Beside a sheer abyss,
And I have felt the soft flakes fall
And melt upon my lips.
I’ve ‘drunk the Spring while sowing seed,
When time cannot be lost.
In deep degrees of Arctic freeze
I’ve drunk, like vodka, frost.
When I’ve drunk storms, that cast upon
The Earth their shadow grim,
Many a rainbow bright has shone
Around the beaker’s rim.
When brier roses bloomed again
And hops grew succulent,
I’ve scrambled up a rocky glen
To drink their heady scent.
Enamoured of the grace sublime
That to fair Earth belongs,
I’ve lost my heart many a time,
As wine I relish songs.
The soul of Man is hard to span:
I’ve drunk with friends of mine
In times of gladness—honeymead,
In sad times—bitter wine.
I drank with all my heart, and not
For fun, to cut a dash:
I’ve heard the world’s youth sing, I’ve seen
The Hiroshima ash.
I’ve relished life as I take Ijeer:
The froth away I blew
And drank a life of toil and strife
That is not false—but true.
I love each day and, come what may,
I drain it to the dregs.
It’s life herself who is to blame
If my great thirst still begs.
I do not care if, thirst unslaked,
This world I have to quit—
Provided men, while Earth rotates,
Remain to thirst on it!