he soul of the Great Prince;
And you, O slender one,
Blue as lapis lazuli,
Are the soul of the little dancing-girl;
And you nestle at last
Beside your stately purple Prince,
Here in the sunshine of my northern garden.

JAPANESE LOVE-SONGS

(_In the Hokku manner_)

I.

The white lotus-flower
Grows in the depths of the pool,
Love grows in my heart.

II.

The peony flames crimson.
My heart's blood is far redder
Than its flame.

III.

Sere iris leaves and dead blossoms.
Mist and drizzle of rain.
Where art thou?

IV.

Darkness. Shadows in my soul.
The vision of your face.
Dawn and music.

V.

Hush of night. Perfumed breath of night.
A moth with flaming wings.
Come beloved.

CUPS OF JADE

The mists lie along the iris-purple valleys;
The little wooden bridge,
Where the waterfall rings its silver bells,
Is a bow of darkness;
The dust of the highway is gray as ashes under our feet;
A cloud of night-birds
Dots the orange sky.

All day our paths have led us side by side
Along the steep hot highways.
It is cool evening now,
And the temple bells call you one way
And the silence calls me another.

We come to the white door-posts of your house,
We leave our dusty shoes beside the little pool among the iris leaves.
We sit upon woven mats and you give me tea to drink
From a cup of sea-green jade.
Now is my tongue heavy with thoughts I cannot utter,
For I know that to-morrow
My path will not lead over the steep hill,
Nor yours down to the deep valley,
For we have drunk together from cups of sea-green jade.

THE LOON'S CRY

Outside the tent
Darkness and giant trees swaying in the wind.
The lake is moaning in its troubled sleep.
And far across the lazy lapping waves,
Above the crooning of the wind,
I hear a wild loon crying,
Like a weary soul alone on the dark water.

Inside the tent
Your gentle breathing,
Untroubled by crooning wind or wailing loon;
Your face is lighted by the embers of the fire.

Fainter and farther away echoes the loon's cry,
But now it is only the voice of Loneliness
Bidding me farewell,
As it passes away into the night.

You stir in your sleep softly
And turn your face to me,--
And the loon cries no more.

PRAYER

I.

A wind-bell hung at the gateway of an ancient temple
And played the music