Mansong

Walls, let your blue paint
hold rain away from her while she is alone,
and do not let snow come
to fall upon her hair as she is sleeping.
Be warm. Be blessed for her sake.

Earth, do not tremble while I am gone. Let
those who harvest know the joy
of gathering, that there be for her no bitter taste.
Be fruitful. Be blessed for her sake.

Rose, it will be winter soon,
the night already is deep, and darkness
covers your leaves too long, and too long.
Dig with your roots and find
will to live till spring, and build
within your heart branch, bud, and bloom;
open when her eyes come to you,
as they will, loving your red and gold.
Be bold. Be blessed for her sake.

River, rise in wind-wracked passes,
pass though nameless stands of fir and hemlock,
cedar, and all the smaller things: bracken, prince's pine,
bearberry, blue huckleberry and red,
trillium, and pale twinflower.
Run through this sleeping city, and bring
refreshment to her in the glad morning.
Be brightly cold; be blessed for her sake.

Orion, seldom seen in our cloud-blanked corner
of the world's night: rise up, man! Throw
your star-buckled knee over the mountain's rim
and with your mighty club and steady eye
meet with and vanquish all evil in this street,
that she may live unhindered by so much
as sadness in a neighbor's face. May it,
and you, by all that is or can be holy,
be blessed for her sake.

Moon: you were full when I went away.
The night before, she saw you
rising through a wreath of clouds
serene beyond confusion.
Look, she said, how beautiful! And
you were, you always are, and every poet
tries to outshine every other in your praise.
Yet she only said
with that sharp intake of breath
that only unfettered wonder knows, how beautiful!
Moon, O
be blessed for her sake,
and watch, that she that so loves you
may smile in a dream of rest.

Angels! May I speak to you?
For I have seen you once.
Gather round me, add your strength to mine.
Give me the voice
of all who have most loved, that I might
speak to the four corners of the heavens
and with authority:
that whatever gods
shield love
will come and wrap their thought
all round her bed as she lies beautifully sleeping,
that they too may be
blessed for her sake, and yours, and theirs.

Poem, which my poor hands have, shaking, wrought
as best they could in the hot coals of my intent:
come to her when she wakes in spring,
and kiss for me
each eyelid, then her small mouth,
and then her mouth again, lightly, lightly!
For I am already blessed for her sake.