An Orange Sleeve

In the fifth month,
When orange-trees
Fill all the world with scent,
I think of the sleeve
Of a girl who loved me.

From the Japanese of Nari-hira.

Edward Powys Mathers

Edward Powys Mathers was an English translator and poet, best known for translating the French Orientalist J.C. Mardrus's translation of 'The Book of the Thousand Nights and One Night' in 1923. In addition to translations, Powys Mathers was an influential figure in the realm of cryptic crosswords, devising some of the most challenging puzzles for 'The Observer'. His translations have been lauded for their literary beauty and for introducing English-speaking audiences to classic Persian, Arabic, and Turkish poetry.

Edward Powys Mathers

An Escape

Edward Powys Mathers, Simple Poetry

Fard

Edward Powys Mathers, Simple Poetry

Melodian

Edward Powys Mathers, Simple Poetry

The Morning Shower

Edward Powys Mathers, Simple Poetry

English

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Grief And The Sleeve

Tears in the moonlight,
You know why,
Have marred the flowers
On my rose sleeve.
Ask why.

From the Japanese of Hide-Yoshi.

Edward Powys Mathers

Old Scent Of The Plum-Tree

Remembering what passed
Under the scent of the plum-tree,
I asked the plum-tree for tidings
Of that other.
Alas ... the cold moon of spring....

From the Japanese of Fujiwara Ietaka. (1158-1237).

Edward Powys Mathers

To His Coy One.

Seest thou yon smiling Orange?
Upon the tree still hangs it;
Already March bath vanish'd,
And new-born flow'rs are shooting.
I draw nigh to the tree then,
And there I say: Oh Orange,
Thou ripe and juicy Orange,
Thou sweet and luscious Orange,
I shake the tree, I shake it,
Oh fall into my lap!

Johann Wolfgang von Goethe

Okhouan

A mole shows black
Between her mouth and cheek.

As if a negro,
Coming into a garden,
Wavered between a purple rose
And a scarlet camomile.

From the Arabic.

Edward Powys Mathers

A Bouquet

A blossom pink, a blossom blue,
    Make all there is in love so true.
'Tis fit, methinks, my heart to move,
    To give it thee, sweet girl, I love!
Now, take it, dear, this morn and wear
    A wreath of beauty in thy hair;
Think on it, when from bliss we part -
    The emblem of my wooing heart!

Edward Smyth Jones

Apple-Blossoms.

Underneath an apple-tree
Sat a maiden and her lover;
And the thoughts within her he
Yearned, in silence, to discover.
Round them danced the sunbeams bright,
Green the grass-lawn stretched before them;
While the apple-blossoms white
Hung in rich profusion o'er them.

Naught within her eyes he read
That would tell her mind unto him;
Though their light, he after said,
Quivered swiftly through and through him;
Till at last his heart burst free
From the prayer with which 'twas laden,
And he said, "When wilt thou be
Mine for evermore, fair maiden?"

"When," said she, "the breeze of May
With white flakes our heads shall cover,
I will be thy brideling gay -
Thou shall be my husband-lover."
"How," said he, in sorrow bowed,
"Can I hope...

William McKendree Carleton