Sunset, Hakone The trains have come and gone. The day is still and in the heavy air no breezes blow; The sun sinks silently below the hill and streetlights cast a faded orange glow. Through darkened doorways, all the silent shelves stand waiting for tomorrow, swept and neat; The neon signs blink "Welcome" to themselves and shuttered windows watch the empty street. What train will bear me from this alien land and back to what I used to know before? What train will come to take me home again? How do I know where "home" is anymore? I stand long-shadowed in the setting sun; The trains have come and gone. The day is done. Autumn Today, the leaves lie bronze upon the ground The air is cold and silver with our breath Departing geese above us circle round To say farewell before the summer's death. Nothing is permanent, and nothing lasts; Summer, and life, and even love must die What use is hope? It too will soon be past: A smoke-trail in a greying autumn sky. And yet--the frost has not yet taken hold; A late south wind has blown the clouds away And set the leaves to dancing, red and gold, And who could ever cry on such a day? Here, now, we lie beneath a spreading tree And I am here, and you are here with me. Calling To The Wind And softly down the mountainside Through pine trees perched in straggling rows Where hunting hawks and eagles glide Upon the air--a cold wind blows. A north wind blows! The evening falls: The trees are bare, the birds have fled, The winds sweeps down the rocky walls On wings of winter heralded. The evening falls. The night descends; The rushing clouds conceal the moon; The tree outside my window bends And sighs: it will be winter soon. I hear the wind. It calls my name With rustling voice of leaf and tree And somehow, still, it sounds the same In this far place beyond the sea As in my home. The north winds blow (Not quite the same, for I forget: This season, there, it brings the snow But here no snow has fallen yet). North wind that cries in lonely flight I wish I had your restless wings That I might fly with you tonight Back there to old familiar things-- But not just yet; I will not go. Though distant by ten thousand miles, This too is home. Cold wind and snow, Blow on without me for awhile. Bring ice and snow, blow strong, fly far Across the sky, across the sea Back where my friends and family are-- No news have you to tell of me. In spring, though, you will bring them rain Across the silver-crested foam Across the mountain and the plain Elegy Once in the long Half-silvered shade of the mountain Aimee came running bright-haired and clench-fisted down From the harbour hill Holding a half-dozen Daisies in her baby-fat palms, barefoot and laughing Aimee ran past me; I called; She answered me, and we ran down together. Once in the rainy Brisk autumn the year we were eight Aimee the half-wild child that would not do sums Asked me if we would get married someday The recess bell Rang as a backdrop to laughter And Aimee, who had forgotten to place her shoes Neatly in the cupboard, was shouted at Again, and I sat at my desk, Hands folded, eyes forward Saying nothing. Once in the twelfth Year of our days in the schoolhouse Aimee came crying slow-footed and clench-fisted down From the harbour hill Holding a half-dozen Letters from universities regretting to inform her That she did not meet their standards so sorry goodbye Aimee walked past me; I called; She said nothing, and I let her pass. Once at the darkest Cloud-splintered hour of the morning I came to the harbour, saw the lights At the end of the pier, and the lanterns Shining, and I Stood on the boardwalk, listening to the wind and the distant Hum of the highway. And Aimee Rippled like a star And rocked back and forth amid the peaceful reeds. Journey Flowers on the hillside--I walked in the morning On green spreading grass, over field, over hill, The sky was as blue as the wind in the summer The clouds in the soft air were lazy and still. And there where I stood I could hear the birds singing Of fledglings and flying, of courting and love They fluttered and flew, and as one they were happy And songs drifted out of the trees far above. Sun in the treetops--I walked in the daylight By tall oak and maple, and old willow tree Through pine-grove and elm-stand--I stopped there in wonder; It seemed that the trees, too, were singing to me Of wind in the branches, of green leaves unfurling, Of sunlight and moonlight, and soft summer rain, Slow growing, deep roots, bitter frost and bright water, Springtime and autumn, and springtime again. Stars on the river--I walked in the evening Where water flowed silver from high rocky lands Stone-song and river-song, out of slow memory Out of the hills where the music began. Old though the hills were, and older the water, The song that they sang was more ancient than they: Music from out of the roots of the mountains, Out of the mists of the very first day. Old songs and new songs--I walked in the darkness Past flowers and rivers, and trees and old stone On bridges and well-trodden pathways I wandered Following roads that would lead me back home. Candles and lamplight shone gold in the windows And voices and laughter ran out, high and deep The most perfect joy is kind hearts and kind faces And firelight and starlight to sing me to sleep. Midnight The ravens and the hunting owls call Above the castle in the mournful night-- This crumbling weed-choked ruin, and their flight Echoes and echoes in the empty halls. But look! A single shaft of moonlight falls And there, transfixed as by a spear of light Thrown down from some unseen and lofty height, A man stands motionless atop the wall. And now another, silent sword raised high, Now ten, now twenty, more and ever more, Sharp shadows lifting up against the sky A silver wave upon an alien shore. The owls shriek--no, tis a different cry: The trumpet sounds to call them back to war. Night Breezes The grass grows long, both on the seaward hill And inland, east a thousand miles and more; Tonight the air is sweet, though never still, Where slopes the land down softly to the shore. The autumn storms are still a month away; Beneath the moon the sea is clear as glass And summer winds blow south and east, and play With shadows on a thousand miles of grass. From high above, between the wave and star The ocean and the plain look much the same: A dark expanse, an endless rippling sea And neither man nor beast, nor stone, nor tree, Nor any other thing, has any claim Upon this place where wind and moonlight are. Point of View And through the window of the train The same today as every day I see the trees go by again In their unchanging treelike way. The old oaks keep a plodding pace The maples march, as maples will, While birch and beech and hawthorne race And lightly leap from hill to hill. They pass before the sunset sky And swiftly they are past and gone; I watch them through the glass, and I Am still; the trees march ever on. Rain The rain is falling on the town on doors and walls and windowpanes and twinkling droplets trickle down from eaves of roofs and towers; The rills of water, here and there, make brooks and rivers in the lanes and turn the roads to silver, where umbrellas sprout like flowers; The rain is falling on the hill and on the treetops all around it skips and wanders where it will through places high and deep; At dusk it shines like silver thread and with a laughing, whispering sound it calls the wood-beasts to their bed and sings the trees to sleep; The rain is falling on the sea and unders clouds the waves are high and stars are hid, but sailors see the lighthouse beacon gleaming; Softly the rain is growing less-- at midnight it begins to die-- the moon is shining in the west on silver water streaming; The rain has fallen on the land and on the sea and on the air on child and beast and bird and man on town and wood and lake; Beneath the darkness, all unseen the world is sparkling, new and fair: the rain has come and washed it clean and waits for it to wake.