Classic Poem

O apple blossoms
Give me your words of silence,
Yes, your charming speech.
. . . . . . . . .
If you would know me,
Do not regard this display;
Mingle with my speech.
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Why sit like the sphinx,
Watching the caravan pass?
Join in the parade.
. . . . . . . . .
What if the wind blows?
What if the leaves are scattered,
Now that they are dead?
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While trimming the plants
I saw some flowers drooping.
I am a flower.
This is but my robe,
His Majesty gave to me.
Garments will decay.
. . . . . . . . .
On the flowering twig,
Lo! the robin is singing.
It must be spring.
. . . . . . . . .
Looking up the hill
The road was long before me.
This road is longer.
. . . . . . . . .
Death is not cruel
From what I have seen of life;
Nothing else remains.
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Life is history.
Turn not away from the book.
Write on every page!
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If you had not sung
Then what would I imitate,
Happy nightingale?
. . . . . . . . .
Sitting by the pool,
I looked in and saw my face.
O that I were blind!