Poems

I have crushed so many roses That my hands Drip with red fragrance. But I would crush to death against my breast The wind That is raging drunk with the perfume of all flowers. I have bathed in a hundred cool springs— Still I am burning. I would plunge into the ocean, Diving down and down To find myself Freshly fluid As a wave.

A wind runs through the room, And leaps out of the window. The white curtain springs after Fluttering out. But it is fastened tight inside. My love kisses me And goes Waving good-bye And laughing. Am I also held fast in this room?