Written On A Wall In Spring
It rained last night,
But fair weather has come back
The green clusters of the palm-trees
Open and begin to throw shadows.
But sorrow drifts slowly down about me.
I come and go in my room,
Heart-heavy with memories.
The neighbour green casts shadows of green
On my blind;
The moss, soaked in dew,
Takes the least print
Like delicate velvet.
I see again a gauze tunic of oranged rose
With shadowy underclothes of grenade red.
How things still live again.
I go and sit by the day balustrade
And do nothing
Except count the plains
And the mountains
And the valleys
And the rivers
That separate from my Spring.
From the Chinese (early nineteenth century).
Written On A Wall In Spring by Edward Powys Mathers