The Gardener | Page 2

and others tears that are hidden in the
gloom.
They all have need for me, and I have no time to brood over
the afterlife.
"I am of an age with each, what matter if my hair turns
grey?"
3
In the morning I cast my net into the sea.
I dragged up from the dark
abyss things of strange aspect and strange beauty--some shone like a
smile, some glistened like tears, and some were flushed like the cheeks
of a bride.
When with the day's burden I went home, my love was
sitting in the garden idly tearing the leaves of a flower.
I hesitated for
a moment, and then placed at her feet all that I had dragged up, and

stood silent.
She glanced at them and said, "What strange things are
these? I know not of what use they are!"
I bowed my head in shame
and thought, "I have not fought for these, I did not buy them in the
market; they are not fit gifts for her."
Then the whole night through I
flung them one by one into the street.
In the morning travellers came;
they picked them up and carried them into far countries.
4
Ah me, why did they build my house by the road to the market town?

They moor their laden boats near my trees.
They come and go and
wander at their will.
I sit and watch them; my time wears on.
Turn
them away I cannot. And thus my days pass by.
Night and day their steps sound by my door.
Vainly I cry, "I do not
know you."
Some of them are known to my fingers, some to my
nostrils, the blood in my veins seems to know them, and some are
known to my dreams.
Turn them away I cannot. I call them and say,
"Come to my house whoever chooses. Yes, come."
In the morning the bell rings in the temple.
They come with their
baskets in their hands.
Their feet are rosy red. The early light of dawn
is on their faces.
Turn them away I cannot. I call them and I say,
"Come to my garden to gather flowers. Come hither."
In the mid-day the gong sounds at the palace gate.
I know not why
they leave their work and linger near my hedge. The flowers in their
hair are pale and faded; the notes are languid in their flutes.
Turn
them away I cannot. I call them and say, "The shade is cool under my
trees. Come, friends."
At night the crickets chirp in the woods.
Who is it that comes slowly
to my door and gently knocks?
I vaguely see the face, not a word is
spoken, the stillness of the sky is all around.
Turn away my silent
guest I cannot. I look at the face through the dark, and hours of dreams
pass by.

5
I am restless. I am athirst for far-away things.
My soul goes out in a
longing to touch the skirt of the dim distance.
O Great Beyond, O the
keen call of thy flute!
I forget, I ever forget, that I have no wings to
fly, that I am bound in this spot evermore.
I am eager and wakeful, I am a stranger in a strange land.
Thy breath
comes to me whispering an impossible hope.
Thy tongue is known to
my heart as its very own.
O Far-to-seek, O the keen call of thy flute!

I forget, I ever forget, that I know not the way, that I have not the
winged horse.
I am listless, I am a wanderer in my heart.
In the sunny haze of the
languid hours, what vast vision of thine takes shape in the blue of the
sky!
O Farthest end, O the keen call of thy flute!
I forget, I ever
forget, that the gates are shut everywhere in the house where I dwell
alone!
6
The tame bird was in a cage, the free bird was in the forest. They met
when the time came, it was a decree of fate.
The free bird cries, "O
my love, let us fly to wood."
The cage bird whispers, "Come hither,
let us both live in the cage."
Says the free bird, "Among bars, where
is there room to spread one's wings?"
"Alas," cries the cage bird, "I
should not know where to sit perched in the sky."
The free bird cries, "My darling, sing the songs of the
woodlands."

The cage bird says, "Sit by my side, I'll teach you the speech of the
learned."
The forest bird cries, "No, ah no! songs can never be
taught." The cage bird says, "Alas for me, I know not the songs of the
woodlands."
Their love is intense with longing, but they never can fly wing to wing.

Through the bars of the cage they look, and vain is their wish to

know each other.
They flutter their wings in yearning, and sing,
"Come closer, my love!"
The free bird cries, "It cannot be, I