With wounds out-reddening every moon-washed roseKing Love went thro' earth's garden-close!From that first gate of birth in the golden gloom,I traced Him. Thorns had frayed His garment's hem,Ay, and His flesh! I marked, I followed themDown to that threshold of—the tomb?And there Love vanished, yet I entered! NightAnd Doubt mocked at the dwindling light:Strange claw-like hands flung me their shadowy hate.I clomb the dreadful stairways of desireBetween a thousand eyes and wings of fireAnd knocked upon the second Gate.The second Gate! When, like a warrior helmed,In battle on battle overwhelmed,My soul lay stabbed by all the swords of sense,Blinded and stunned by stars and flowers and trees,Did I not struggle to my bended kneesAnd wrestle with Omnipotence?Did earth not flee before me, when the breathOf worship smote her with strange death,Withered her gilded garment, broke her sword,Shattered her graven images and smoteAll her light sorrows thro' the breast and throatWhose death-cry crowned me God and Lord?Yea, God and Lord! Had tears not purged my sight?I saw the myriad gates of LightOpening and shutting in each way-side flower,And like a warder in the gleam of each,Death, whispering in some strange eternal speechTo every passing hour.The second Gate? Was I not born to passA million? Though the skies be brassAnd the earth iron, shall I not win thro' all?Shall I who made the infinite heavens my markShrink from this first wild horror of the dark,These formless gulfs, these glooms that crawl?Never was mine that easy faithless hopeWhich makes all life one flowery slopeTo heaven! Mine be the vast assaults of doom,Trumpets, defeats, red anguish, age-long strife,Ten million deaths, ten million gates to life,The insurgent heart that bursts the tomb.Vain, vain, unutterably vain are allThe sights and sounds that sink and fall,The words and symbols of this fleeting breath:Shall I not drown the finite in the Whole,Cast off this body and complete my soulThro' deaths beyond this gate of death?It will not open! Through the bars I seeThe glory and the mysteryWind upward ever! The earth-dawn breaks! I bleedWith beating here for entrance. Hark, O hark,Love, Love, return and give me the great Dark,Which is the Light of Life indeed.
With wounds out-reddening every moon-washed roseKing Love went thro' earth's garden-close!From that first gate of birth in the golden gloom,I traced Him. Thorns had frayed His garment's hem,Ay, and His flesh! I marked, I followed themDown to that threshold of—the tomb?
And there Love vanished, yet I entered! NightAnd Doubt mocked at the dwindling light:Strange claw-like hands flung me their shadowy hate.I clomb the dreadful stairways of desireBetween a thousand eyes and wings of fireAnd knocked upon the second Gate.
The second Gate! When, like a warrior helmed,In battle on battle overwhelmed,My soul lay stabbed by all the swords of sense,Blinded and stunned by stars and flowers and trees,Did I not struggle to my bended kneesAnd wrestle with Omnipotence?
Did earth not flee before me, when the breathOf worship smote her with strange death,Withered her gilded garment, broke her sword,Shattered her graven images and smoteAll her light sorrows thro' the breast and throatWhose death-cry crowned me God and Lord?
Yea, God and Lord! Had tears not purged my sight?I saw the myriad gates of LightOpening and shutting in each way-side flower,And like a warder in the gleam of each,Death, whispering in some strange eternal speechTo every passing hour.
The second Gate? Was I not born to passA million? Though the skies be brassAnd the earth iron, shall I not win thro' all?Shall I who made the infinite heavens my markShrink from this first wild horror of the dark,These formless gulfs, these glooms that crawl?
Never was mine that easy faithless hopeWhich makes all life one flowery slopeTo heaven! Mine be the vast assaults of doom,Trumpets, defeats, red anguish, age-long strife,Ten million deaths, ten million gates to life,The insurgent heart that bursts the tomb.
Vain, vain, unutterably vain are allThe sights and sounds that sink and fall,The words and symbols of this fleeting breath:Shall I not drown the finite in the Whole,Cast off this body and complete my soulThro' deaths beyond this gate of death?
It will not open! Through the bars I seeThe glory and the mysteryWind upward ever! The earth-dawn breaks! I bleedWith beating here for entrance. Hark, O hark,Love, Love, return and give me the great Dark,Which is the Light of Life indeed.
OurselvesThe Tall Thin ManThe Dwarf Behind the Twisted Pear-treeCreeping SinThe Mad MoonsheeThe Nameless One
OurselvesThe Tall Thin ManThe Dwarf Behind the Twisted Pear-treeCreeping SinThe Mad MoonsheeThe Nameless One
Pirates, Mandarins, Bonzes, Priests, Jugglers, Merchants, Ghastroi, Weirdrians, etc.
You that have known the wonder zoneOf islands far away;You that have heard the dinky birdAnd roamed in rich Cathay;You that have sailed o'er unknown seasTo woods of Amfalula treesWhere craggy dragons play:Oh, girl or woman, boy or man,You've plucked the Flower of Old Japan!Do you remember the blue stream;The bridge of pale bamboo;The path that seemed a twisted dreamWhere everything came true;The purple cherry-trees; the houseWith jutting eaves below the boughs;The mandarins in blue,With tiny, tapping, tilted toes,And curious curved mustachios?The road to Old Japan!you cry,And is it far or near?Some never find it till they die;Some find it everywhere;The road where restful Time forgetsHis weary thoughts and wild regretsAnd calls the golden yearBack in a fairy dream to smileOn young and old a little while.Some seek it with a blazing sword,And some with old blue plates;Some with a miser's golden hoard;Some with a book of dates;Some with a box of paints; a fewWhose loads of truth would ne'er pass throughThe first, white, fairy gates;And, oh, how shocked they are to findThat truths are false when left behind!Do you remember all the talesThat Tusitala told,When first we plunged thro' purple valesIn quest of buried gold?Do you remember how he saidThat if we fell and hurt our headOur hearts must still be bold,And we must never mind the painBut rise up and go on again?Do you remember? Yes; I knowYou must remember still:He left us, not so long ago,Carolling with a will,Because he knew that he should lieUnder the comfortable skyUpon a lonely hill,In Old Japan, when day was done;"Dear Robert Louis Stevenson."And there he knew that he should findThe hills that haunt us now;The whaups that cried upon the windHis heart remembered how;And friends he loved and left, to roamFar from the pleasant hearth of home,Should touch his dreaming brow;Where fishes fly and birds have fins,And children teach the mandarins.Ah, let us follow, follow farBeyond the purple seas;Beyond the rosy foaming bar,The coral reef, the trees,The land of parrots, and the wildThat rolls before the fearless childIts ancient mysteries:Onward and onward, if we can,To Old Japan—to Old Japan.
You that have known the wonder zoneOf islands far away;You that have heard the dinky birdAnd roamed in rich Cathay;You that have sailed o'er unknown seasTo woods of Amfalula treesWhere craggy dragons play:Oh, girl or woman, boy or man,You've plucked the Flower of Old Japan!
Do you remember the blue stream;The bridge of pale bamboo;The path that seemed a twisted dreamWhere everything came true;The purple cherry-trees; the houseWith jutting eaves below the boughs;The mandarins in blue,With tiny, tapping, tilted toes,And curious curved mustachios?
The road to Old Japan!you cry,And is it far or near?Some never find it till they die;Some find it everywhere;The road where restful Time forgetsHis weary thoughts and wild regretsAnd calls the golden yearBack in a fairy dream to smileOn young and old a little while.
Some seek it with a blazing sword,And some with old blue plates;Some with a miser's golden hoard;Some with a book of dates;Some with a box of paints; a fewWhose loads of truth would ne'er pass throughThe first, white, fairy gates;And, oh, how shocked they are to findThat truths are false when left behind!
Do you remember all the talesThat Tusitala told,When first we plunged thro' purple valesIn quest of buried gold?Do you remember how he saidThat if we fell and hurt our headOur hearts must still be bold,And we must never mind the painBut rise up and go on again?
Do you remember? Yes; I knowYou must remember still:He left us, not so long ago,Carolling with a will,Because he knew that he should lieUnder the comfortable skyUpon a lonely hill,In Old Japan, when day was done;"Dear Robert Louis Stevenson."
And there he knew that he should findThe hills that haunt us now;The whaups that cried upon the windHis heart remembered how;And friends he loved and left, to roamFar from the pleasant hearth of home,Should touch his dreaming brow;Where fishes fly and birds have fins,And children teach the mandarins.
Ah, let us follow, follow farBeyond the purple seas;Beyond the rosy foaming bar,The coral reef, the trees,The land of parrots, and the wildThat rolls before the fearless childIts ancient mysteries:Onward and onward, if we can,To Old Japan—to Old Japan.
When the firelight, red and clear,Flutters in the black wet pane,It is very good to hearHowling winds and trotting rain:It is very good indeed,When the nights are dark and cold,Near the friendly hearth to readTales of ghosts and buried gold.So with cozy toes and handsWe were dreaming, just like you;Till we thought of palmy landsColoured like a cockatoo;All in drowsy nursery nooksNear the clutching fire we sat,Searching quaint old story-booksPiled upon the furry mat.Something haunted us that nightLike a half-remembered name;Worn old pages in that lightSeemed the same, yet not the same:Curling in the pleasant heatSmoothly as a shell-shaped fan,O, they breathed and smelt so sweetWhen we turned to Old Japan!Suddenly we thought we heardSomeone tapping on the wall,Tapping, tapping like a bird.Then a panel seemed to fallQuietly; and a tall thin manStepped into the glimmering room,And he held a little fan,And he waved it in the gloom.Curious red, and golds, and greensDanced before our startled eyes,Birds from painted Indian screens,Beads, and shells, and dragon-flies;Wings, and flowers, and scent, and flame,Fans and fish and heliotrope;Till the magic air becameLike a dream kaleidoscope.Then he told us of a landFar across a fairy sea;And he waved his thin white handLike a flower, melodiously;While a red and blue macawPerched upon his pointed head,And as in a dream, we sawAll the curious things he said.Tucked in tiny palanquins,Magically swinging there,Flowery-kirtled mandarinsFloated through the scented air;Wandering dogs and prowling catsGrinned at fish in painted lakes;Cross-legged conjurers on matsFluted low to listening snakes.Fat black bonzes on the shoreWatched where singing, faint and far,Boys in long blue garments boreRoses in a golden jar.While at carven dragon shipsFloating o'er that silent sea,Squat-limbed gods with dreadful lipsLeered and smiled mysteriously.Like an idol, shrined alone,Watched by secret oval eyes,Where the ruby wishing-stoneSmouldering in the darkness lies,Anyone that wanted thingsTouched the jewel and they came;We were wealthier than kingsCould we only do the same.Yes; we knew a hundred waysWe might use it if we could;To be happy all our daysAs an Indian in a wood;No more daily lesson task,No more sorrow, no more care;So we thought that we would askIf he'd kindly lead us there.Ah, but then he waved his fan,Laughed and vanished through the wall;Yet as in a dream, we ranTumbling after, one and all;Never pausing once to think,Panting after him we sped;Far away his robe of pinkFloated backward as he fled.Down a secret passage deep,Under roofs of spidery stairs,Where the bat-winged nightmares creep,And a sheeted phantom glaresRushed we; ah, how strange it wasWhere no human watcher stood;Till we reached a gate of glassOpening on a flowery wood.Where the rose-pink robe had flown,Borne by swifter feet than ours,On to Wonder-Wander town,Through the wood of monstrous flowers;Mailed in monstrous gold and blueDragon-flies like peacocks fled;Butterflies like carpets, too,Softly fluttered overhead.Down the valley, tip-a-toe,Where the broad-limbed giants lieSnoring, as when long agoJack on a bean-stalk scaled the sky;On to Wonder-Wander townStole we past old dreams again,Castles long since battered down,Dungeons of forgotten pain.Noonday brooded on the wood,Evening caught us ere we creptWhere a twisted pear-tree stood,And a dwarf behind it slept;Round his scraggy throat he wore,Knotted tight, a scarlet scarf;Timidly we watched him snore,For he seemed a surly dwarf.Yet, he looked so very small,He could hardly hurt us much;We were nearly twice as tall,So we woke him with a touchGently, and in tones polite,Asked him to direct our path;O, his wrinkled eyes grew brightGreen with ugly gnomish wrath.He seemed to choke,And gruffly spoke,"You're lost: deny it, if you can!You want to knowThe way to go?There's no such place as Old Japan."You want to seek—No, no, don't speak!You mean you want to steal a fan.You want to seeThe fields of tea?They don't grow tea in Old Japan."In China, wellPerhaps you'd smellThe cherry bloom: that's if you ranA million milesAnd jumped the stiles,And never dreamed of Old Japan."What, palanquins,And mandarins?And, what d'you say, a blue divan?And what? Hee! hee!You'll never seeA pig-tailed head in Old Japan."You'd take awayThe ruby, hey?I never heard of such a plan!Upon my wordIt's quite absurdThere's not a gem in Old Japan!"Oh, dear me, no!You'd better goStraight home again, my little man:Ah, well, you'll seeBut don't blame me;I don't believe in Old Japan."Then, before we could obey,O'er our startled heads he cast,Spider-like, a webby greyNet that held us prisoned fast;How we screamed, he only grinned,It was such a lonely place;And he said we should be pinnedSafely in his beetle-case.Out he dragged a monstrous boxFrom a cave behind the tree!It had four-and-twenty locks,But he could not find the key,And his face grew very paleWhen a sudden voice beganDrawing nearer through the vale,Singing songs of Old Japan,
When the firelight, red and clear,Flutters in the black wet pane,It is very good to hearHowling winds and trotting rain:It is very good indeed,When the nights are dark and cold,Near the friendly hearth to readTales of ghosts and buried gold.
So with cozy toes and handsWe were dreaming, just like you;Till we thought of palmy landsColoured like a cockatoo;All in drowsy nursery nooksNear the clutching fire we sat,Searching quaint old story-booksPiled upon the furry mat.
Something haunted us that nightLike a half-remembered name;Worn old pages in that lightSeemed the same, yet not the same:Curling in the pleasant heatSmoothly as a shell-shaped fan,O, they breathed and smelt so sweetWhen we turned to Old Japan!
Suddenly we thought we heardSomeone tapping on the wall,Tapping, tapping like a bird.Then a panel seemed to fallQuietly; and a tall thin manStepped into the glimmering room,And he held a little fan,And he waved it in the gloom.
Curious red, and golds, and greensDanced before our startled eyes,Birds from painted Indian screens,Beads, and shells, and dragon-flies;Wings, and flowers, and scent, and flame,Fans and fish and heliotrope;Till the magic air becameLike a dream kaleidoscope.
Then he told us of a landFar across a fairy sea;And he waved his thin white handLike a flower, melodiously;While a red and blue macawPerched upon his pointed head,And as in a dream, we sawAll the curious things he said.
Tucked in tiny palanquins,Magically swinging there,Flowery-kirtled mandarinsFloated through the scented air;Wandering dogs and prowling catsGrinned at fish in painted lakes;Cross-legged conjurers on matsFluted low to listening snakes.
Fat black bonzes on the shoreWatched where singing, faint and far,Boys in long blue garments boreRoses in a golden jar.While at carven dragon shipsFloating o'er that silent sea,Squat-limbed gods with dreadful lipsLeered and smiled mysteriously.
Like an idol, shrined alone,Watched by secret oval eyes,Where the ruby wishing-stoneSmouldering in the darkness lies,Anyone that wanted thingsTouched the jewel and they came;We were wealthier than kingsCould we only do the same.
Yes; we knew a hundred waysWe might use it if we could;To be happy all our daysAs an Indian in a wood;No more daily lesson task,No more sorrow, no more care;So we thought that we would askIf he'd kindly lead us there.
Ah, but then he waved his fan,Laughed and vanished through the wall;Yet as in a dream, we ranTumbling after, one and all;Never pausing once to think,Panting after him we sped;Far away his robe of pinkFloated backward as he fled.
Down a secret passage deep,Under roofs of spidery stairs,Where the bat-winged nightmares creep,And a sheeted phantom glaresRushed we; ah, how strange it wasWhere no human watcher stood;Till we reached a gate of glassOpening on a flowery wood.
Where the rose-pink robe had flown,Borne by swifter feet than ours,On to Wonder-Wander town,Through the wood of monstrous flowers;Mailed in monstrous gold and blueDragon-flies like peacocks fled;Butterflies like carpets, too,Softly fluttered overhead.
Down the valley, tip-a-toe,Where the broad-limbed giants lieSnoring, as when long agoJack on a bean-stalk scaled the sky;On to Wonder-Wander townStole we past old dreams again,Castles long since battered down,Dungeons of forgotten pain.
Noonday brooded on the wood,Evening caught us ere we creptWhere a twisted pear-tree stood,And a dwarf behind it slept;Round his scraggy throat he wore,Knotted tight, a scarlet scarf;Timidly we watched him snore,For he seemed a surly dwarf.
Yet, he looked so very small,He could hardly hurt us much;We were nearly twice as tall,So we woke him with a touchGently, and in tones polite,Asked him to direct our path;O, his wrinkled eyes grew brightGreen with ugly gnomish wrath.
He seemed to choke,And gruffly spoke,"You're lost: deny it, if you can!You want to knowThe way to go?There's no such place as Old Japan.
"You want to seek—No, no, don't speak!You mean you want to steal a fan.You want to seeThe fields of tea?They don't grow tea in Old Japan.
"In China, wellPerhaps you'd smellThe cherry bloom: that's if you ranA million milesAnd jumped the stiles,And never dreamed of Old Japan.
"What, palanquins,And mandarins?And, what d'you say, a blue divan?And what? Hee! hee!You'll never seeA pig-tailed head in Old Japan.
"You'd take awayThe ruby, hey?I never heard of such a plan!Upon my wordIt's quite absurdThere's not a gem in Old Japan!
"Oh, dear me, no!You'd better goStraight home again, my little man:Ah, well, you'll seeBut don't blame me;I don't believe in Old Japan."
Then, before we could obey,O'er our startled heads he cast,Spider-like, a webby greyNet that held us prisoned fast;How we screamed, he only grinned,It was such a lonely place;And he said we should be pinnedSafely in his beetle-case.
Out he dragged a monstrous boxFrom a cave behind the tree!It had four-and-twenty locks,But he could not find the key,And his face grew very paleWhen a sudden voice beganDrawing nearer through the vale,Singing songs of Old Japan,
Satin sails in a crimson dawnOver the silky silver sea;Purple veils of the dark withdrawn;Heavens of pearl and porphyry;Purple and white in the morning lightOver the water the town we knew,In tiny state, like a willow-plate,Shone, and behind it the hills were blue.There, we remembered, the shadows passAll day long like dreams in the night;There, in the meadows of dim blue grass,Crimson daisies are ringed with white.There the roses flutter their petals,Over the meadows they take their flight,There the moth that sleepily settlesTurns to a flower in the warm soft light.There when the sunset colours the streetsEveryone buys at wonderful stallsToys and chocolates, guns and sweets,Ivory pistols, and Persian shawls:Everyone's pockets are crammed with gold;Nobody's heart is worn with care,Nobody ever grows tired and old,And nobody calls you "Baby" there.There with a hat like a round white dishUpside down on each pig-tailed head,Jugglers offer you snakes and fish,Dreams and dragons and gingerbread;Beautiful books with marvellous pictures,Painted pirates and streaming gore,And everyone reads, without any strictures,Tales he remembers for evermore.There when the dim blue daylight lingersListening, and the West grows holy,Singers crouch with their long white fingersFloating over the zithern slowly:Paper lamps with a peachy bloomBurn above on the dim blue bough,While the zitherns gild the gloomWith curious music! I hear it now!Now: and at that mighty wordHolding out his magic fan,Through the waving flowers appeared,Suddenly, the tall thin man:And we saw the crumpled dwarfTrying to hide behind the tree,But his knotted scarlet scarfMade him very plain to see.Like a soft and smoky cloudPassed the webby net away;While its owner squealing loudDown behind the pear-tree lay;For the tall thin man came near,And his words were dark and gruff,And he swung the dwarf in the airBy his long and scraggy scruff.There he kickled whimpering.But our rescuer touched the box,Open with a sudden springClashed the four-and-twenty locks;Then he crammed the dwarf inside,And the locks all clattered tight:Four-and-twenty times he triedWhether they were fastened right.Ah, he led us on our road,Showed us Wonder-Wander town;Then he fled: behind him flowedOnce again the rose-pink gown:Down the long deserted street,All the windows winked like eyes,And our little trotting feetEchoed to the starry skies.Low and long for evermoreWhere the Wonder-Wander seaWhispers to the wistful shorePurple songs of mystery,Down the shadowy quay we came—Though it hides behind the hillYou will find it just the sameAnd the seamen singing still.There we chose a ship of pearl,And her milky silken sailSeemed by magic to unfurl,Puffed before a fairy gale;Shimmering o'er the purple deep,Out across the silvery bar,Softly as the wings of sleepSailed we towards the morning star.Over us the skies were dark,Yet we never needed light;Softly shone our tiny barkGliding through the solemn night;Softly bright our moony gleam,Glimmered o'er the glistening waves,Like a cold sea-maiden's dreamGlobed in twilit ocean caves.So all night our shallop passedMany a haunt of old desire,Blurs of savage blossom massedRed above a pirate-fire;Huts that gloomed and glanced amongFruitage dipping in the blue;Songs the sirens never sung,Shores Ulysses never knew.All our fairy rigging shoneRichly as a rainbow seenWhere the moonlight floats uponGossamers of gold and green:All the tiny spars were bright;Beaten gold the bowsprit was;But our pilot was the night,And our chart a looking-glass.
Satin sails in a crimson dawnOver the silky silver sea;Purple veils of the dark withdrawn;Heavens of pearl and porphyry;Purple and white in the morning lightOver the water the town we knew,In tiny state, like a willow-plate,Shone, and behind it the hills were blue.
There, we remembered, the shadows passAll day long like dreams in the night;There, in the meadows of dim blue grass,Crimson daisies are ringed with white.There the roses flutter their petals,Over the meadows they take their flight,There the moth that sleepily settlesTurns to a flower in the warm soft light.
There when the sunset colours the streetsEveryone buys at wonderful stallsToys and chocolates, guns and sweets,Ivory pistols, and Persian shawls:Everyone's pockets are crammed with gold;Nobody's heart is worn with care,Nobody ever grows tired and old,And nobody calls you "Baby" there.
There with a hat like a round white dishUpside down on each pig-tailed head,Jugglers offer you snakes and fish,Dreams and dragons and gingerbread;Beautiful books with marvellous pictures,Painted pirates and streaming gore,And everyone reads, without any strictures,Tales he remembers for evermore.
There when the dim blue daylight lingersListening, and the West grows holy,Singers crouch with their long white fingersFloating over the zithern slowly:Paper lamps with a peachy bloomBurn above on the dim blue bough,While the zitherns gild the gloomWith curious music! I hear it now!
Now: and at that mighty wordHolding out his magic fan,Through the waving flowers appeared,Suddenly, the tall thin man:And we saw the crumpled dwarfTrying to hide behind the tree,But his knotted scarlet scarfMade him very plain to see.
Like a soft and smoky cloudPassed the webby net away;While its owner squealing loudDown behind the pear-tree lay;For the tall thin man came near,And his words were dark and gruff,And he swung the dwarf in the airBy his long and scraggy scruff.
There he kickled whimpering.But our rescuer touched the box,Open with a sudden springClashed the four-and-twenty locks;Then he crammed the dwarf inside,And the locks all clattered tight:Four-and-twenty times he triedWhether they were fastened right.
Ah, he led us on our road,Showed us Wonder-Wander town;Then he fled: behind him flowedOnce again the rose-pink gown:Down the long deserted street,All the windows winked like eyes,And our little trotting feetEchoed to the starry skies.
Low and long for evermoreWhere the Wonder-Wander seaWhispers to the wistful shorePurple songs of mystery,Down the shadowy quay we came—Though it hides behind the hillYou will find it just the sameAnd the seamen singing still.
There we chose a ship of pearl,And her milky silken sailSeemed by magic to unfurl,Puffed before a fairy gale;Shimmering o'er the purple deep,Out across the silvery bar,Softly as the wings of sleepSailed we towards the morning star.
Over us the skies were dark,Yet we never needed light;Softly shone our tiny barkGliding through the solemn night;Softly bright our moony gleam,Glimmered o'er the glistening waves,Like a cold sea-maiden's dreamGlobed in twilit ocean caves.
So all night our shallop passedMany a haunt of old desire,Blurs of savage blossom massedRed above a pirate-fire;Huts that gloomed and glanced amongFruitage dipping in the blue;Songs the sirens never sung,Shores Ulysses never knew.
All our fairy rigging shoneRichly as a rainbow seenWhere the moonlight floats uponGossamers of gold and green:All the tiny spars were bright;Beaten gold the bowsprit was;But our pilot was the night,And our chart a looking-glass.
With rosy finger-tips the DawnDrew back the silver veils,Till lilac shimmered into lawnAbove the satin sails;And o'er the waters, white and wan,In tiny patterned state,We saw the streets of Old JapanShine, like a willow plate.O, many a milk-white pigeon roamsThe purple cherry crops,The mottled miles of pearly domes,And blue pagoda tops,The river with its golden canesAnd dark piratic dhows,To where beyond the twisting vanesThe burning mountain glows.A snow-peak in the silver skiesBeyond that magic world,We saw the great volcano riseWith incense o'er it curled,Whose tiny thread of rose and blueHas risen since time began,Before the first enchanter knewThe peak of Old Japan.Nobody watched us quietly steerThe pinnace to the painted pier,Except one pig-tailed mandarin,Who sat upon a chest of teaPretending not to hear or see!...His hands were very long and thin,His face was very broad and white;And O, it was a fearful sightTo see him sit alone and grin!His grin was very sleek and sly:Timidly we passed him by.He did not seem at all to care:So, thinking we were safely past,We ventured to look back at last.O, dreadful blank!—He was not there!He must have hid behind his chest:We did not stay to see the rest.But, as in reckless haste we ran,We came upon the tall thin man,Who called to us and waved his fan,And offered us his palanquin:He said we must not go aloneTo seek the ruby wishing-stone,Because the white-faced mandarinWould dog our steps for many a mile,And sit upon each purple stileBefore we came to it, and smileAnd smile; his name was Creeping Sin.He played with children's beating hearts,And stuck them full of poisoned dartsAnd long green thorns that stabbed and stung:He'd watch until we tried to speak,Then thrust inside his pasty cheekHis long, white, slimy tongue:And smile at everything we said;And sometimes pat us on the head,And say that we were very young:He was a cousin of the manWho said that there was no Japan.And night and day this Creeping SinWould follow the path of the palanquin;Yet if we still were fain to touchThe ruby, we must have no fear,Whatever we might see or hear,And the tall thin man would take us there;He did not fear that Sly One much,Except perhaps on a moonless night,Nor even then if the stars were bright.So, in the yellow palankeenWe swung along in state betweenTwinkling domes of gold and greenThrough the rich bazaar,Where the cross-legged merchants sat,Old and almond-eyed and fat,Each upon a gorgeous mat,Each in a cymar;Each in crimson samite breeches,Watching his barbaric riches.Cherry blossom breathing sweetWhispered o'er the dim blue streetWhere with fierce uncertain feetTawny pirates walk:All in belts and baggy blouses,Out of dreadful opium houses,Out of dens where Death carouses,Horribly they stalk;Girt with ataghan and dagger,Right across the road they swagger.And where the cherry orchards blow,We saw the maids of Miyako,Swaying softly to and froThrough the dimness of the dance:Like sweet thoughts that shine through dreamsThey glided, wreathing rosy gleams,With stately sounds of silken streams,And many a slim kohl-lidded glance;Then fluttered with tiny rose-bud feetTo a softfrou-frouand a rhythmic beatAs the music shimmered, pursuit, retreat,"Hands across, retire, advance!"And again it changed and the glimmering throngFaded into a distant song.
With rosy finger-tips the DawnDrew back the silver veils,Till lilac shimmered into lawnAbove the satin sails;And o'er the waters, white and wan,In tiny patterned state,We saw the streets of Old JapanShine, like a willow plate.
O, many a milk-white pigeon roamsThe purple cherry crops,The mottled miles of pearly domes,And blue pagoda tops,The river with its golden canesAnd dark piratic dhows,To where beyond the twisting vanesThe burning mountain glows.
A snow-peak in the silver skiesBeyond that magic world,We saw the great volcano riseWith incense o'er it curled,Whose tiny thread of rose and blueHas risen since time began,Before the first enchanter knewThe peak of Old Japan.
Nobody watched us quietly steerThe pinnace to the painted pier,Except one pig-tailed mandarin,Who sat upon a chest of teaPretending not to hear or see!...His hands were very long and thin,His face was very broad and white;And O, it was a fearful sightTo see him sit alone and grin!
His grin was very sleek and sly:Timidly we passed him by.He did not seem at all to care:So, thinking we were safely past,We ventured to look back at last.O, dreadful blank!—He was not there!He must have hid behind his chest:We did not stay to see the rest.
But, as in reckless haste we ran,We came upon the tall thin man,Who called to us and waved his fan,And offered us his palanquin:He said we must not go aloneTo seek the ruby wishing-stone,Because the white-faced mandarinWould dog our steps for many a mile,And sit upon each purple stileBefore we came to it, and smileAnd smile; his name was Creeping Sin.
He played with children's beating hearts,And stuck them full of poisoned dartsAnd long green thorns that stabbed and stung:He'd watch until we tried to speak,Then thrust inside his pasty cheekHis long, white, slimy tongue:And smile at everything we said;And sometimes pat us on the head,And say that we were very young:He was a cousin of the manWho said that there was no Japan.
And night and day this Creeping SinWould follow the path of the palanquin;Yet if we still were fain to touchThe ruby, we must have no fear,Whatever we might see or hear,And the tall thin man would take us there;He did not fear that Sly One much,Except perhaps on a moonless night,Nor even then if the stars were bright.
So, in the yellow palankeenWe swung along in state betweenTwinkling domes of gold and greenThrough the rich bazaar,Where the cross-legged merchants sat,Old and almond-eyed and fat,Each upon a gorgeous mat,Each in a cymar;Each in crimson samite breeches,Watching his barbaric riches.
Cherry blossom breathing sweetWhispered o'er the dim blue streetWhere with fierce uncertain feetTawny pirates walk:All in belts and baggy blouses,Out of dreadful opium houses,Out of dens where Death carouses,Horribly they stalk;Girt with ataghan and dagger,Right across the road they swagger.
And where the cherry orchards blow,We saw the maids of Miyako,Swaying softly to and froThrough the dimness of the dance:Like sweet thoughts that shine through dreamsThey glided, wreathing rosy gleams,With stately sounds of silken streams,And many a slim kohl-lidded glance;Then fluttered with tiny rose-bud feetTo a softfrou-frouand a rhythmic beatAs the music shimmered, pursuit, retreat,"Hands across, retire, advance!"And again it changed and the glimmering throngFaded into a distant song.
The maidens of MiyakoDance in the sunset hours,Deep in the sunset glow,Under the cherry flowers.With dreamy hands of pearlFloating like butterflies,Dimly the dancers whirlAs the rose-light dies;And their floating gowns, their hairUpbound with curious pins,Fade thro' the darkening airWith the dancing mandarins.And then, as we went, the tall thin manExplained the manners of Old Japan;If you pitied a thing, you pretended to sneer;Yet if you were glad you ran to buyA captive pigeon and let it fly;And, if you were sad, you took a spearTo wound yourself, for fear your painShould quietly grow less again.And, again he said, if we wished to findThe mystic City that enshrinedThe stone so few on earth had found,We must be very brave; it layA hundred haunted leagues away,Past many a griffon-guarded ground,In depths of dark and curious art,Where passion-flowers enfold apartThe Temple of the Flaming Heart,The City of the Secret Wound.About the fragrant fall of dayWe saw beside the twisted wayA blue-domed tea-house, bossed with gold;Hungry and thirsty we entered in,How should we know what Creeping SinHad breathed in that Emperor's ear who soldHis own dumb soul for an evil jewelTo the earth-gods, blind and ugly and cruel?We drank sweet tea as his tale was told,In a garden of blue chrysanthemums,While a drowsy swarming of gongs and drumsOut of the sunset dreamily rolled.But, as the murmur nearer drew,A fat black bonze, in a robe of blue,Suddenly at the gate appeared;And close behind, with that evil grin,Was it Creeping Sin, was it Creeping Sin?The bonze looked quietly down and sneered.Our guide! Was he sleeping? We could not wake him.However we tried to pinch and shake him!Nearer, nearer the tumult came,Till, as a glare of sound and flame,Blind from a terrible furnace doorBlares, or the mouth of a dragon, blazedThe seething gateway: deaf and dazedWith the clanging and the wild uproarWe stood; while a thousand oval eyesGapped our fear with a sick surmise.Then, as the dead sea parted asunder,The clamour clove with a sound of thunderIn two great billows; and all was quiet.Gaunt and black was the palankeenThat came in dreadful state betweenThe frozen waves of the wild-eyed riotCurling back from the breathless trackOf the Nameless One who is never seen:The close drawn curtains were thick and black;But wizen and white was the tall thin manAs he rose in his sleep:His eyes were closed, his lips were wan,He crouched like a leopard that dares not leap.The bearers halted: the tall thin man,Fearfully dreaming, waved his fan,With wizard fingers, to and fro;While, with a whimper of evil glee,The Nameless Emperor's mad MoonsheeStepped in front of us: dark and slowWere the words of the doom that he dared not name;But, over the ground, as he spoke there cameTiny circles of soft blue flame;Like ghosts of flowers they began to glow,And flow like a moonlit brook betweenOur feet and the terrible palankeen.But the Moonshee wrinkled his long thin eyes,And sneered, "Have you stolen the strength of the skies?Then pour before us a stream of pearl!Give us the pearl and the gold we know,And our hearts will be softened and let you go;But these are toys for a foolish girl—These vanishing blossoms—what are they worth?They are not so heavy as dust and earth:Pour before us a stream of pearl!"Then, with a wild strange laugh, our guideStretched his arms to the West and criedOnce, and a song came over the sea;And all the blossoms of moon-soft fireWoke and breathed as a wind-swept lyre,And the garden surged into harmony;Till it seemed that the soul of the whole world sung,And every petal became a tongueTo tell the thoughts of Eternity.But the Moonshee lifted his painted browsAnd stared at the gold on the blue tea-house:"Can you clothe your body with dreams?" he sneered;"If you taught us the truths that we always knowOur heart might be softened and let you go:Can you tell us the length of a monkey's beard,Or the weight of the gems on the Emperor's fan,Or the number of parrots in Old Japan?"And again, with a wild strange laugh, our guideLooked at him; and he shrunk aside,Shrivelling like a flame-touched leaf;For the red-cross blossoms of soft blue fireWere growing and fluttering higher and higher,Shaking their petals out, sheaf by sheaf,Till with disks like shields and stems like towersBurned the host of the passion-flowers... Had the Moonshee flown like a midnight thief?... Yet a thing like a monkey, shrivelled and black,Chattered and danced as they forced him back.As the coward chatters for empty pride,In the face of a foe that he cannot but fear,It chattered and leapt from side to side,And its voice rang strangely upon the ear.As the cry of a wizard that dares not ownAnother's brighter and mightier throne;As the wrath of a fool that rails aloudOn the fire that burnt him; the brazen brayClamoured and sang o'er the gaping crowd,And flapped like a gabbling goose away.
The maidens of MiyakoDance in the sunset hours,Deep in the sunset glow,Under the cherry flowers.
With dreamy hands of pearlFloating like butterflies,Dimly the dancers whirlAs the rose-light dies;
And their floating gowns, their hairUpbound with curious pins,Fade thro' the darkening airWith the dancing mandarins.
And then, as we went, the tall thin manExplained the manners of Old Japan;If you pitied a thing, you pretended to sneer;Yet if you were glad you ran to buyA captive pigeon and let it fly;And, if you were sad, you took a spearTo wound yourself, for fear your painShould quietly grow less again.
And, again he said, if we wished to findThe mystic City that enshrinedThe stone so few on earth had found,We must be very brave; it layA hundred haunted leagues away,Past many a griffon-guarded ground,In depths of dark and curious art,Where passion-flowers enfold apartThe Temple of the Flaming Heart,The City of the Secret Wound.
About the fragrant fall of dayWe saw beside the twisted wayA blue-domed tea-house, bossed with gold;Hungry and thirsty we entered in,How should we know what Creeping SinHad breathed in that Emperor's ear who soldHis own dumb soul for an evil jewelTo the earth-gods, blind and ugly and cruel?We drank sweet tea as his tale was told,In a garden of blue chrysanthemums,While a drowsy swarming of gongs and drumsOut of the sunset dreamily rolled.
But, as the murmur nearer drew,A fat black bonze, in a robe of blue,Suddenly at the gate appeared;And close behind, with that evil grin,Was it Creeping Sin, was it Creeping Sin?The bonze looked quietly down and sneered.Our guide! Was he sleeping? We could not wake him.However we tried to pinch and shake him!
Nearer, nearer the tumult came,Till, as a glare of sound and flame,Blind from a terrible furnace doorBlares, or the mouth of a dragon, blazedThe seething gateway: deaf and dazedWith the clanging and the wild uproarWe stood; while a thousand oval eyesGapped our fear with a sick surmise.
Then, as the dead sea parted asunder,The clamour clove with a sound of thunderIn two great billows; and all was quiet.Gaunt and black was the palankeenThat came in dreadful state betweenThe frozen waves of the wild-eyed riotCurling back from the breathless trackOf the Nameless One who is never seen:The close drawn curtains were thick and black;But wizen and white was the tall thin manAs he rose in his sleep:His eyes were closed, his lips were wan,He crouched like a leopard that dares not leap.
The bearers halted: the tall thin man,Fearfully dreaming, waved his fan,With wizard fingers, to and fro;While, with a whimper of evil glee,The Nameless Emperor's mad MoonsheeStepped in front of us: dark and slowWere the words of the doom that he dared not name;But, over the ground, as he spoke there cameTiny circles of soft blue flame;Like ghosts of flowers they began to glow,And flow like a moonlit brook betweenOur feet and the terrible palankeen.
But the Moonshee wrinkled his long thin eyes,And sneered, "Have you stolen the strength of the skies?Then pour before us a stream of pearl!Give us the pearl and the gold we know,And our hearts will be softened and let you go;But these are toys for a foolish girl—These vanishing blossoms—what are they worth?They are not so heavy as dust and earth:Pour before us a stream of pearl!"
Then, with a wild strange laugh, our guideStretched his arms to the West and criedOnce, and a song came over the sea;And all the blossoms of moon-soft fireWoke and breathed as a wind-swept lyre,And the garden surged into harmony;Till it seemed that the soul of the whole world sung,And every petal became a tongueTo tell the thoughts of Eternity.
But the Moonshee lifted his painted browsAnd stared at the gold on the blue tea-house:"Can you clothe your body with dreams?" he sneered;"If you taught us the truths that we always knowOur heart might be softened and let you go:Can you tell us the length of a monkey's beard,Or the weight of the gems on the Emperor's fan,Or the number of parrots in Old Japan?"
And again, with a wild strange laugh, our guideLooked at him; and he shrunk aside,Shrivelling like a flame-touched leaf;For the red-cross blossoms of soft blue fireWere growing and fluttering higher and higher,Shaking their petals out, sheaf by sheaf,Till with disks like shields and stems like towersBurned the host of the passion-flowers... Had the Moonshee flown like a midnight thief?... Yet a thing like a monkey, shrivelled and black,Chattered and danced as they forced him back.
As the coward chatters for empty pride,In the face of a foe that he cannot but fear,It chattered and leapt from side to side,And its voice rang strangely upon the ear.As the cry of a wizard that dares not ownAnother's brighter and mightier throne;As the wrath of a fool that rails aloudOn the fire that burnt him; the brazen brayClamoured and sang o'er the gaping crowd,And flapped like a gabbling goose away.
If the blossoms were beans,I should know what it means—This blaze, which I certainly cannot endure;It is evil, too,For its colour is blue,And the sense of the matter is quite obscure.Celestial truthIs the food of youth;But the music was dark as a moonless night.The facts in the songWere all of them wrong,And there was not a single sum done right;Tho' a metaphysician amongst the crowd,In a voice that was notably deep and loud,Repeated, as fast as he was able,The whole of the multiplication table.So the cry flapped off as a wild goose flies,And the stars came out in the trembling skies,And ever the mystic glory grewIn the garden of blue chrysanthemums,Till there came a rumble of distant drums;And the multitude suddenly turned and flew.... A dead ape lay where their feet had been ...And we called for the yellow palankeen,And the flowers divided and let us through.The black-barred moon was large and lowWhen we came to the Forest of Ancient Woe;And over our heads the stars were bright.But through the forest the path we travelledIts phosphorescent aisle unravelledIn one thin ribbon of dwindling light:And twice and thrice on the fainting trackWe paused to listen. The moon grew black,But the coolies' faces glimmered white,As the wild woods echoed in dreadful chorusA laugh that came horribly hopping o'er usLike monstrous frogs thro' the murky night.Then the tall thin man as we swung alongSang us an old enchanted songThat lightened our hearts of their fearful load.But, e'en as the moonlit air grew sweet,We heard the pad of stealthy feetDogging us down the thin white road;And the song grew weary again and harsh,And the black trees dripped like the fringe of a marsh,And a laugh crept out like a shadowy toad;And we knew it was neither ghoul nor djinn:It was Creeping Sin! It was Creeping Sin!But we came to a bend, and the white moon glowedLike a gate at the end of the narrowing roadFar away; and on either hand,As guards of a path to the heart's desire,The strange tall blossoms of soft blue fireStretched away thro' that unknown land,League on league with their dwindling laneDown to the large low moon; and againThere shimmered around us that mystical strain,In a tongue that it seemed we could understand.
If the blossoms were beans,I should know what it means—This blaze, which I certainly cannot endure;It is evil, too,For its colour is blue,And the sense of the matter is quite obscure.Celestial truthIs the food of youth;But the music was dark as a moonless night.The facts in the songWere all of them wrong,
And there was not a single sum done right;Tho' a metaphysician amongst the crowd,In a voice that was notably deep and loud,Repeated, as fast as he was able,The whole of the multiplication table.
So the cry flapped off as a wild goose flies,And the stars came out in the trembling skies,And ever the mystic glory grewIn the garden of blue chrysanthemums,Till there came a rumble of distant drums;And the multitude suddenly turned and flew.... A dead ape lay where their feet had been ...And we called for the yellow palankeen,And the flowers divided and let us through.
The black-barred moon was large and lowWhen we came to the Forest of Ancient Woe;And over our heads the stars were bright.But through the forest the path we travelledIts phosphorescent aisle unravelledIn one thin ribbon of dwindling light:And twice and thrice on the fainting trackWe paused to listen. The moon grew black,But the coolies' faces glimmered white,As the wild woods echoed in dreadful chorusA laugh that came horribly hopping o'er usLike monstrous frogs thro' the murky night.
Then the tall thin man as we swung alongSang us an old enchanted songThat lightened our hearts of their fearful load.But, e'en as the moonlit air grew sweet,We heard the pad of stealthy feetDogging us down the thin white road;And the song grew weary again and harsh,And the black trees dripped like the fringe of a marsh,And a laugh crept out like a shadowy toad;And we knew it was neither ghoul nor djinn:It was Creeping Sin! It was Creeping Sin!
But we came to a bend, and the white moon glowedLike a gate at the end of the narrowing roadFar away; and on either hand,As guards of a path to the heart's desire,The strange tall blossoms of soft blue fireStretched away thro' that unknown land,League on league with their dwindling laneDown to the large low moon; and againThere shimmered around us that mystical strain,In a tongue that it seemed we could understand.