IMITATED FROM THE JAPANESE.

“.......................... 
I have forgotten to forget.”—­Japanese Song. 
Tr. by R.H.  Stoddard.

The morning flies, the evening dies;
  The heat of noon, the chills of night,
Are but the dull varieties
  Of Phoebus’ and of Phoebe’s flight—­
Are but the dull varieties
  Of ruined night and ruined day;
They bring no pleasure to mine eyes,
  For I have sent my soul away.

I am the man who cannot love,
  Yet once my heart was bright as thine,
The suns that rove, the moons that move,
  No longer make its chambers shine;
No more they light the spirit face
  That lit my night and made my day;
No maiden feet with mine keep pace
  For I have sent my soul away.

O, lost!  I think I see thee stand,
  By Mary’s ivied chapel door,
Where once thou stood’st, and with thy hand
  Wring pious pain, as once before. 
Impatient, crude philosopher,
  I scorned thy gentle wisdom’s ray. 
All vain thy moistened eyelids were;
  I sent my soul and thee away.

A causeless wrath, a mood of pride,
  Some tears of thine, and all was done;
On alien plains I travelled wide
  And thou wert soon a veiled nun. 
Not long a veiled nun, but soon
  Unveiled of linen and of clay;
But I am March while thou art June,
  For I have sent my soul away.

And now when I would love thee well,
  There sits alone within my breast
Calm guilt that dare not from its hell
  Look up and wish the thing thou art. 
I see a dreadful gulf of fright
  Beneath my falling life; and gray,
Thy light becomes the ghost of light
  Above it as it falls away.

I have a life, a voice, a form,
  A skilful hand to lift and turn,
I have emotions like a storm,
  A brain to throb, a heart to burn;
But that which Jesus’ blood can save,
  Which looks toward eternal day,
Is gone before me to the grave.—­
  It was my soul I sent away.

The past is past, and o’er its woe
  It is no comfort to repine;
But I would wage my life to know
  Thy feet in heaven keep pace with mine. 
I have no hope, I will not weep,
  The only wish that wish I may
Is this, that I may find asleep
  The soul I thought I sent away.

THE KNIGHT ERRANT.

Cloud to wind
O blow, blow high, for I descend;
Friend must go to meet his friend,
If to earth you tie your feet
You and I will never meet.

Wind
Nay, I haste.  A trifle wait;
I exceed my usual gait. 
Ha! this hill-top is sublime,
But it makes me pant to climb.

Cloud
Once again, a little space,
Meet we in this Alpine place,
Before you leap adown the vale
Or I along my pathway sail.