THERE IS ROOM for you. You are alone with your few sheaves of rice. My boat is crowded, it is heavily laden, but how can I turn you away? your young body is slim and swaying; there is a twinkling smile in the edge of your eyes, and your robe is coloured like the rain-cloud. The travellers will land for different roads and homes. You will sit for a while on the prow of my boat, and at the journey's end none will keep you back. Where do you go, and to what home, to garner your sheaves? I will not question you, but when I fold my sails and moor my boat, I shall sit and wonder in the evening,-Where do you go, and to what home, to garner your sheaves?
MY EYES HAVE lost their sleep, in watching; yet if I do not meet thee still it is sweet to watch. My heart sits in the shadow of the rains waiting for thy love; if she is deprived still it is sweet to hope. They walk away in their different paths leaving me behind; if I am alone still it is sweet to listen for thy footsteps. The wistful face of the earth weaving its autumn mists wakens longing in my heart; if it is in vain still it is sweet to feel the pain of longing.
