Upstairs
I have lifted her over my threshold to-night.Many moons have risen and set since she received my napi;But now she is here and has entered my upper room,Where is a shrine for the joss of happiness,And a soft couch and delicate hanging,And fine things for fine fingers to handle,And shaded lanterns and a guitar and my machine-that-sings.
There are ornaments of jade and lacquer,And the bamboo pipe and the hap-heem that I have laid aside,And the written leaves containing my verses.But there are no writing tables, no ink and no brushes.For now my verses will be written upon her brow.