Happiness, to some, elation; Is, to others, mere stagnation.
Hate is ravening vulture beaks descending on a place of skulls.
You are ice and fire the touch of you burns my hands like snow.
Epitaph of a Young Poet Who Died Before Having Achieved Success
Beneath this sod lie the remains
Of one who died of growing pains.
Moon! Moon! I am prone before you. Pity me, and drench me in loneliness.
To A Husband
Brighter than fireflies upon the Uji River
Are your words in the dark, Beloved.
All books are either dreams or swords, you can cut, or you can drug, with words.
A man must be sacrificed now and again to provide for the next generation of men.
If I could catch the green lantern of the firefly
I could see to write you a letter.