The oriole sings in the greening grove
                                           As if he were half-way waiting,
                                           The rosebuds peep from their hoods of green,
                                           Timid and hesitating.
The rain comes down in a torrent sweep
             And the nights smell warm and piney,
The garden thrives, but the tender shoots
             Are yellow-green and tiny.
Then a flash of sun on a waiting hill,
             Streams laugh that erst were quiet,
The sky smiles down with a dazzling blue
             And the woods run mad with riot.

^{translated from the Korean by Younghill Kang}

When you go walking through the clear dawn in the shade of trees,
  my dream will become the few little stars
     that are staying on over your head.

When during summer days you are sleeping a daytime sleep
  unable to conquer the heat, my dream will become the clear winds
     that are floating about your vicinage.

When in the still Autumn nights, you sit alone reading books,
  my dream will become the voice of the cricket, crying
     under your table, “chirrup, chirrup.”

나의 꿈

당신이 맑은 새벽에 나무그늘 사이에서 산보할 때에 
나의 꿈은 작은 별이 되어서 
당신의 머리 위를 지키고 있겠습니다.

당신이 여름날에 더위를 못 이기어 낮잠을 자거든 
나의 꿈은 맑은 바람이 되어서 
당신의 주위에 떠돌겠습니다.

당신이 고요한 가을밤에 그윽히 앉아서 글을 볼 때에 
나의 꿈은 귀뚜라미가 되어서 
당신의 책상 밑에서 “귀똘귀똘” 울겠습니다.

A dash of yellow sand,
Wind-scattered and sun-tanned;
Some waves that curl and cream along the margin of the strand;
And, creeping close to these
Long shores that lounge at ease,
Old Erie rocks and ripples to a fresh sou’-western breeze.

A sky of blue and grey;
Some stormy clouds that play
At scurrying up with ragged edge, then laughing blow away,
Just leaving in their trail
Some snatches of a gale;
To whistling summer winds we lift a single daring sail.

O! wind so sweet and swift,
O! danger-freighted gift
Bestowed on Erie with her waves that foam and fall and lift,
We laugh in your wild face,
And break into a race
With flying clouds and tossing gulls that weave and interlace.

All yesterday it poured, and all night long
    I could not sleep; the rain unceasing beat
Upon the shingled roof like a weird song,
    Upon the grass like running children’s feet.
And down the mountains by the dark cloud kissed,
    Like a strange shape in filmy veiling dressed,
Slid slowly, silently, the wraith-like mist,
    And nestled soft against the earth’s wet breast.
But lo, there was a miracle at dawn!
    The still air stirred at touch of the faint breeze,
The sun a sheet of gold bequeathed the lawn,
    The songsters twittered in the rustling trees.
And all things were transfigured in the day,
    But me whom radiant beauty could not move;
For you, more wonderful, were far away,
    And I was blind with hunger for your love.