There are many clouds
But not like the one I see,
For mine floats like a swan in featheriness
Over the River of the Broken Pine.
There are many clouds
But not like the one that goes sailing
Like a ship full of gold that shines,
Like a ship leaning above blue water.
There are many clouds
But not like the one I wait for,
For mine will have a strangeness
Whiter than anything your eyes remember.
MOON THOUGHT
The moon is thinking of the river
Winding through the mountains far away,
Because she has a river in her heart
Full of the same silver.
THE OLD BRIDGE
The old bridge has a wrinkled face.
He bends his back
For us to go over.
He moans and weeps
But we do not hear.
Sorrow stands in his face
For the heavy weight and worry
Of people passing.
The trees drop their leaves into the water;
The sky nods to him.
The leaves float down like small ships
On the blue surface
Which is the sky.
He is not always sad:
He smiles to see the ships go down
And the little children
Playing on the river banks.
FERNS
Small ferns up-coming through the mossy green,
Up-curling and springing,
See trees circling round them,
And the straight brook like a lily-stem:
Hear the water laughing
At the stern old pine-tree
Who keeps sighing to himself all day long
What's the use! What's the use!