Flower of Song 59 



We walked and walked through hedges green, 

 Through rice-fields empty still, 

 To where we saw a garden gate 

 Beneath the farthest hill. 



She pointed out the rows of "flowers"; 



I saw no planted things, 



But white and purple butterflies 



Tied down with silken strings. 



They strained and fluttered in the breeze, 



So eager to be free; 



I begged the man to let them go, 



But mother laughed at me. 



She said that they could never rise, 

 Like birds, to heaven so blue. 

 But even mothers do not know 

 Some things that children do. 



That night, the flowers untied themselves 

 And softly stole away, 

 To fly in sunshine round my dreams 

 Until the break of day. 



Mary McNeil Fenellosa: Iris Flowers. 



The Iris, grown between my house and the neighbor's 

 Is just burnishing in its deepest color and glory; 

 I wish that some one would come to see it, 

 Before it withers away and returns to the dust. 



Tr. from the Japanese. 



