The best Author's Poems

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It's strange to wander in the fog!
A lonely bush, a lonely stone,
No tree can see the other one,
And one is all alone.
The world was full of friends back then,
As life was light to me;
But now the fog has come,
And no one can I see.
Truly, no one is wise,
Who does not know the dark
Which inevitably and silently
Does from others him part.
It's strange to wander in the fog!
Life is loneliness
No Man knows the other one,
And one is all alone.

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The brawling of a sparrow in the eaves,
The brilliant moon and all the milky sky,
And all that famous harmony of leaves,
Had blotted out man's image and his cry.

A girl arose that had red mournful lips
And seemed the greatness of the world in tears,
Doomed like Odysseus and the labouring ships
And proud as Priam murdered with his peers;

Arose, and on the instant clamorous eaves,
A climbing moon upon an empty sky,
And all that lamentation of the leaves,
Could but compose man's image and his cry.

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My temptation is quiet.
Here at life's end
Neither loose imagination,
Nor the mill of the mind
Consuming its rag and bone,
Can make the truth known.

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Dawn's faint breath
breathes with your mouth
at the ends of empty streets.
Gray light your eyes,
sweet drops of dawn
on dark hills.
Your steps and breath
like the wind of dawn
smother houses.
The city shudders,
Stones exhale--
you are life, an awakening.
Star lost
in the light of dawn,
trill of the breeze,
warmth, breath--
the night is done.
You are light and morning.

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Autumn. Already I feel it coming
in the August winds,
in the September rains
torrential and crying
and a shiver crossed the earth
that now, naked and sad,
welcomes a lost sun.
Now that it passes and declines,
in this autumn that gravely walks
with nameless sluggishness,
the best time of our lives
that slowly bids farewell.

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They who have never seen the daylight peer Into a darkened room, and drawn the curtain,
And with dull eyes and wearied from some dear
And worshipped body risen, they for certain
Will never know of what I try to sing,
How long the last kiss was, how fond and late his lingering.

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Well, son, I'll tell you:
Life for me ain't been no crystal stair.
It's had tacks in it,
And splinters,
And boards torn up,
And places with no carpet on the floor
Bare.
But all the time
I'se been a-climbin' on,
And reachin' landin's,
And turnin' corners,
And sometimes goin' in the dark
Where there ain't been no light.
So boy, don't you turn back.
Don't you set down on the steps
'Cause you finds it's kinder hard.
Don't you fall now
For I'se still goin', honey,
I'se still climbin',
And life for me ain't been no crystal stair.

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The falling dew is cold and chill,
And no bird sings in Arcady,
The little fauns have left the hill,
Even the tired daffodil
Has closed its gilded doors, and still
My lover comes not back to me.
False moon! False moon! O waning moon!
Where is my own true lover gone,
Where are the lips vermilion,
The shepherd's crook, the purple shoon?
Why spread that silver pavilion,
Why wear that veil of drifting mist?
Ah! thou hast young Endymion,
Thou hast the lips that should be kissed!

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When the moon comes out
bells mute
and paths seem
impenetrable.
When the moon comes out
the sea covers the earth
and the heart becomes
an island in infinity.

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For love was offered me and I shrank from its disillusionment;
sorrow knocked at my door, but I was afraid;
ambition called to me, but I dreaded the chances.

Yet all the while I hungered for meaning in my life.

And now I know that we must lift the sail
and catch the winds of destiny
wherever they drive the boat.

To put meaning in one's life may end in madness,
but life without meaning is the torture
of restlessness and vague desire,
it is a boat longing for the sea and yet afraid.
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