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AUTHOR ALLEY

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“Autumn Window: A Night of Wind and Rain The autumn flowers are dead, the leaves are sere; Lamp-light comes soon, the nights grow long again. Outside my window autumn’s signs appear More dismal in the wind and rustling rain. The rustling rain came in such swift downpour It startled me from autumn-dream-filled sleep. Now, in a muse, unable to sleep more, I watch the candle at my bedside weep. The candle weeps down to its socket low, And my heart weeps and desolation feels. Yet the same wind in other courts must blow; The sound of rain through other windows steals. The wind’s chill strikes through quilt and counterpane, The rain drums like a mad clock in my ears, All night, in whispering, monotone refrain, Companion to my own swift-coursing tears. The courtyard now with mist begins to fill, The bamboo’s drip persists without a pause. When will the wind cease and the rain be still, That with its weeping soaks my window’s gauze?”

“Men spoke of how the heart broke up, but never spoke of how the soul hung speechless in the pause, the void, the terror between the living and the dead; how, all garments rent and cast aside, the naked soul passed over the very mouth of Hell. Once there, there was no turning back; once there, the soul remembered, though the heart sometimes forgot.”