A moongate in my wall: собрание стихотворений

[1923 г.]

500. To a Stink-bug [232]

One day I saw a stink-bug small А-sitting near me on the wall. I said: «Tray tell me, Stink-bug dear, What makes you suddenly appear And light when no one wants you to, As if the place belongs to you? Will you not answer me?» I cried. And, hark! The dirty bum replied, As he looked up: «What did you think? — I love to fly around and stink, Because I know it makes you sore To see me lighting on the floor, Or watch me floating o'er your bed, Or smell my presence near your head». With this the grinning bug had flown And left me, wondering, alone.

232

Published in NCA 1922 the student annual of the Noilh China American School in Tongzhou. The stink-bug is a grayish-brown beetle in Сhina, which emits a very unpleasant smell when squashed.

1923 г.

501. Homeward Bound

Oh, school's as great as great could be, And all my friends around, But it's Harbin and home for me, And I am northward bound. So hurry up, you lazy train, And Farewell, old Tungchow! Another day — and home again. Oh, engine, why so slow? Above North China's wheat and corn The mists rise thick and white. Oh, hurry on towards day, sweet morn, For I'll be home tonight. A happy winter this has been, I love to live at school; But now it's home, and it's Harbin, — Enough of life by rule! I want my home, and I am glad That ere another day I'll see my Mother and my Dad, And Kitty at his play; I'll have my chum again to kiss, And I w on't work at all, And never, never will I miss The school outside the wall. There won't be any rising bell, With which the school awakes; Instead of that there'll be a smell Of homemade griddlecakes. And I can stay in bed all day Without that dose of oil, And I can let my tired head Rest from a Junior's toil. And, Caesar, I'll forget you soon, Though you have been my friend. When will you cease, oh, engine's tune? When will this journey end?

1923 г.

502. «Alone, when once so many were around…»

Alone, when once so many were around, Who loved me so, and left me now alone! And now, though once my sleep had been so sound, I dream all night of faces I have known. I talk to them of all I saw and learned, I tell them all I have been thinking of; I take such pride in praises I have earned, i take such joy to see again their love! But w hen the snow is melting on the range Beneath the heated rays of coining day Each morning brings too soon the loathsome change And makes my lonely vision fade away.

Claremont, 12 Oct. [1924]

503. Masterpieces

Snow clouds came to rest on Baldy mountain, When the sun had hidden in his den, — After lights were low and voices quiet In the valley cottages of men. With a treasure they were heavy laden, With the crystal blessings of the fr ost — Such of which Old Baldy had been dreaming. Which it loved and months ago had lost. Only pictures of a Perfect Artist… Wakened by the morning's early gleam, Baldy stood majestically crowned, — And the clouds were floating down their stream What though passing clouds sent down their shadows? Baldy's smile was deeper than before For the soothing, purifying freshness Which the falling snow had held in store.

Claremont, 17 Nov. [1924]

504. «The world is but a dancing hall…»

The world is but a dancing hall, Where all the people dance; and all Can foxtrot, but a mighty few Can waltz, — and one of them is you.

17 Feb. [1925]

505. ««Expectantly?» Suppose, you little fool…»

П. No. 2

«Expectantly?» Suppose, you little fool, A hunchback (but there are none in the school)… Suppose a wench of some four feet and two Would, since you ask, decide to visit you … Or some gaunt giantess above six feet, Such as the people laugh at when they meet… Suppose she is bow-legged, and her hair, Like that of ancient Furies, stands in air? And let her face be harsh as mortal sin, Belying any sparkle from within. She winks an eye, distorts a ghastly cheek, And then you hear, instead of voice, — a squeak! Will you at that be able to disguise The true interpretation of your eyes? And generously willing to forget The shock that you from such a sight would get? But after all, you may be far amiss And I may be Mister, not a Miss. I really always hate to disappoint, But «dazzling, flashing» are beside the point. «Expectantly»… — You know not what you say! Yet you may hear from me another day.

15 May [1926]

506. «…This funny game — this life — is full of things…»

П. (Отрывок)

…This funny game — this life — is full of things We guess not of. A mocking bird that sings At dawn, in June, above your windowsill, Charming your waking fancies with its trill — Will fly away, and you will never see Why it had landed on the neighbor tree. Better to keep things hidden than unmasked, Lest answers startle, if the truth be asked; Kinder to let the goldfish float below, Than, having caught it, watch its life-light go; Safer to leave the morning star unfound, Than, having held it, shatter on the ground… — Leave, and be gone along the open trail, Don't watch the sun until its glories pale. So I will wander on, and so will you, Our feet still wet with early morning dew, A endless day still glimmering ahead— That speaks of warmth and often burrs instead. … We both are humans. That's where really lies My sympathy for you; and though our eyes Have never met, we many times have seen The other's eyes, not knowing what they mean. Another life, passed by along the way, Forgotten in a week, yet near today. Let us be merry; though the blissful hours May be but few in this here life of ours. Let us be happy; though the fairy wand Touches but seldom each unfailing hand…

31 May [1926]

507. Parting

The cold waves, and the light underneath the waves, — Is anything grayer — is anyone's welcome colder? Yet dimmer and dimmer grows The shadow of love's graves, And barely my conscience saves The parting touch of your shoulder. In the ocean I seek repose. Not even grief can mar The beauty — when waters close To silence love's echo. And you are forgotten and far.

24 Sept. 1926

508. «They took me to the door and showed…»

They took me to the door and showed A narrow and a winding road, Leading to wondrous things, that may Be mine, if I but go that way. I went, for I had naught to lose, And saw no other road to choose. And much the Powers freely gave That I was fool enough to crave. Beauty and Love and Youth I had, And many friends who made me glad That Higher Powers long ago Had shown me just that way to go. Yet often, oh, how often now I want — if they but told me how — To find that first wide-open door And beg for just a little more.

June 1927

509. «It's eye for eye, and tooth for tooth…»

It's eye for eye, and tooth for tooth, And even the Eternal Truth For every cruel word I've said Breathes vengeance on my head.

16 Apr. 1929

510. «I cast a rock into the well…»

I cast a rock into the well And stood to listen how it fell. How it went shooting through the deep. Where frogs and water-serpents creep. And as it reached the bottom black I heard it give a sullen whack And saw the bubbles at the top And circles w’here 1 let it drop. And now — I see the sky and sun And I regret what I have done And wonder if the silent stone Remembers, where it lies alone Among the creatures of the slime, Its happier and brighter time — And if it longs to see above The sun, which I deprived it of.