The Morning Glory Poem by Helen Jane Waddell
The Morning Glory
The morning glory climbs above my head,
Pale flowers of white and purple, blue and red.
I am disquieted.
Down in the withered grasses something stirred;
I thought it was his footfall that I heard.
Then a grasshopper chirred.
I climbed the hill just as the new moon showed,
I saw him coming on the southern road.
My heart lays down its load.
translated from the Shi King, or Book of Odes
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
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8/4/2026 8:38:47 AM # rel_20260803T153344Z_4267e77
