Bamboo-and-orange Poem

Bamboo-and-orange Poem

After Li Po

Whilst I sit by my window here
A breeze all sweet with orange-bloom,
Blowing by me, fills the room,
And I hear orange-venders near
Crying their wares, and see the glow
Of gold globed fruit on the trees below;
And take my brush and ink, and clear
On the white paper page let fall
Glyphs like orange-blooms,—and all,
Fall’n, become scent, bloom, trees, fruit, call
Of orange-venders where they go,—
A poem the ends of the earth shall know.

And whilst I sit by the window here,
I watch the bamboos sway to and fro,
And hear their swish and whispers low
Like gray raindrops drifting drear,
Or a far stream o’er mountain stones,
Or a far scythe the reaper hones;
And take my brush and ink, and strew
Glyphs like sprigs of young bamboo,
That by some witchcraft echo again
Bamboo-sounds,—scythe, stream, drift of rain;
And when the page is covered, lo,
A poem a thousand years shall hear!

And time shall lay the bamboos by,
And bloom, fruit, scent, trees, groves shall go,
And they that cry the fruit shall die,
And I. . . .  But the poem has naught to fear.

The Theosophical Path, January 1924