On the Death of His Wife at Karu

By Karu's road, where high the mallard fly,
In her own home-place did my love abide,
And all my soul with deep desire did sigh
To see her and to linger by her side.
But prying eyes too constant visits barred,
And eyes too many made our meetings few.
Yet did I trust—tho' long the ways and hard,
Endless as trailing creepers—yet anew
To meet my love. All hopeful did I trust,
As to his tall ship trusteth seaman bold,
While still our love was hid, as deep pool thrust
'Mid rocks whose hearts hold fire, tho' outward cold.

Alas! the sun is darkened in my sky!
The moon that lit my heav'n is hid from view.
Graceful as sea-fronds that in green deeps lie,
My love, like Autumn's pride of leaf and hue,
Out of my world has vanished, as the dew!

Such are the tidings that the runner brings,
White-wanded messenger whose words I hear—
They pierce me, as the arrows from the strings
Of white-wood bows—the words that sting and sear!

Nor answer find I, neither comfort gain.
Yet, to assuage a thousandth part my woe,
Karu-wards wending, full of grief and pain,
I listen for her accents sweet and low,
Her voice I list for—but alone I hear
The wild-fowl screaming as they take their flight
Across Unebi, to the shining mere.
No form with sleeves uplifted greets my sight—
The thronging folk upon the way I meet,
Scanning their faces, but I never see
A face like hers—and so with weary feet
I stumble on in hopeless misery.
Onward I wend, and can but cry again
The loved one's name, and wave my sleeve in vain!

Fain would I seek among the winding hill paths,
Where ruddy clouds of foliage hide the ways,
Her whom I love, who wanders ever further;
But all unknown the pathway where she strays!