The Gift
I want to
give you something, my child,
for we are
drifting in the stream of the world.
Our lives
will be carried apart,
and our love
forgotten.
But I am not
so foolish as to hope that
I could buy
your heart with my gifts.
Young is your
life, your path long, and
you drink the
love we bring you at one draught
and turn and
run away from us.
You have your
play and your playmates.
What harm is
there if you have no time
or thought
for us.
We, indeed,
have leisure enough in old age
to count the
days that are past,
to cherish in
our hearts what our
hands have
lost for ever.
The river
runs swift with a song,
breaking
through all barriers.
But the
mountain stays and remembers,
and follows
her with his love.
The Golden
Boat
Clouds
rumbling in the sky; teeming rain.
I sit on the
river bank, sad and alone.
The sheaves
lie gathered, harvest has ended,
The river is
swollen and fierce in its flow.
As we cut the
paddy it started to rain.
One small
paddy-field, no one but me—
Flood-waters
twisting and swirling everywhere.
Trees on the
far bank; smear shadows like ink
On a village
painted on deep morning grey.
On this side
a paddy-field, no one but me.
Who is this,
steering close to the shore,
Singing? I
feel that she is someone I know.
The sails are
filled wide, she gazes ahead,
Waves break
helplessly against the boat each side.
I watch and feel
I have seen her face before.
Oh to what
foreign land do you sail?
Come to the
bank and moor your boat for a while.
Go where you
want to, give where you care to,
But come to
the bank a moment, show your smile—
Take away my
golden paddy when you sail.
Take it, take
as much as you can load.
Is there
more? No, none, I have put it aboard.
My intense
labor here by the river—
I have parted
with it all, layer upon layer;
Now take me
as well, be kind, take me aboard.
No room, no
room, the boat is too small.
Loaded with
my gold paddy, the boat is full.
Across the
rain-sky clouds heave to and fro,
On the bare
river-bank, I remain alone—
What had has
gone: the golden boat took all.