Gazing thro' her chamber window
Sits my soul's dear soul;
Looking northward, looking southward,
Looking to the goal,
Looking back without control. --

I have strewn thy path, beloved,
With plumed meadowsweet,
Iris and pale perfumed lilies,
Roses most complete:
Wherefore pause on listless feet? --

But she sits and never answers;
Gazing gazing still
On swift fountain, shadowed valley,
Cedared sunlit hill:
Who can guess or read her will?

Who can guess or read the spirit
Shrined within her eyes,
Part a longing, part a languor,
Part a mere surprise,
While slow mists do rise and rise? --

Is it love she looks and longs for;
Is it rest or peace;
Is it slumber self-forgetful
In its utter ease;
Is it one or all of these?

So she sits and doth not answer
With her dreaming eyes,
With her languid look delicious
Almost Paradise,
Less than happy, over wise.

Answer me, O self-forgetful --
Or of what beside? --
Is it day dream of a maiden,
Vision of a bride,
Is it knowledge, love, or pride?

Cold she sits thro' all my kindling,
Deaf to all I pray:
I have wasted might and wisdom,
Wasted night and day:
Deaf she dreams to all I say.

Now if I could guess her secret
Were it worth the guess? --
Time is lessening, hope is lessening,
Love grows less and less:
What care I for no or yes? --

I will give her stately burial,
Tho', when she lies dead:
For dear memory of the past time,
Of her royal head,
Of the much I strove and said.

I will give her stately burial,
Willow branches bent;
Have her carved in alabaster,
As she dreamed and leant
While I wondered what she meant.

"Art should be for everyone" – Mari Katayama | Tate

Artist Mari Katayama creates hand-sewn sculptures and photographs that prompt conversations and challenge misconceptions about our bodies. B...