Classic Poem

I

Tender willow,
almost gold, almost amber,
almost light. . . .

II

The geese on their
clay trumpets sound
false alarms.

III

Royal peacock, slowly fulgurant,
through the democratic barnyard
you pass like a procession. . . .

IV

Although he never stirs from home
the tortoise, like a load of furniture,
jolts down the path.

V

The garden is thick with dry leaves:
on the trees I never saw
so many green, in spring. . . .

VI

Lumps of mud, the toads
along the shady path
hop. . . .

VII

The bat, in the night,
essays the swallow's flight
so as to fly by day. . . .

VIII

Restore to the bare bough,
nocturnal butterfly,
the dry leaves of your wings!

IX

The nightingale beneath
the awe of heaven raves
its psalm to the sole star.

X

The brilliant moon
working through its web
keeps the spider awake.

XI

Sea the black night,
the cloud a shell,
the moon a pearl.