from Heart of Love
Down here the bright persimmon grows,
dew of the orient in Heaven's rows
where branches fructify the dawn
crystalled upon the bough in blazing form
when spans the knife at winter's edge.
The ebon veins excised, the limb to tame
shoots sudden the viridian flame;
prolific and entropic, life to see
spurts coiling out from irony.
Lathe on the corporal die our spirit's wing
grown fullf'd upon the fat of earth
loosed from sun's anchor, ribboning the skies
and lovely to all mortal eyes
embodiment of spring. Here now to sing
the rites of abdication borne:
blest avarice for atrophy,
an athanasia hid in clayey form.
O set me on the daïs with ring!
limn from our sorrows all the shamisen,
the haunting lute, the haunting lyre
lashed with love. These ivied trellises
furtive hide our banquet sweet
within these bowers copsed with wheat and wine.
O make me thine, preside no thorn
but to maternal rose; all thronged with death
blossoms the heaven-studded weed.