Invitation to the Voyage

(A New Version)

Alfred Noyes

A rambling cherry-petalled stream;A bridge of pale bamboo;A path that seemed a twisted dreamWhere everything came true;A crimson-lanternedgarden-houseWith jutting eaves below the boughs;The slant-eyed elves in blueWith soft slip-slapping heels and toesDancing before the Daimyōs:“And is it Old Japan,” you cry“That half-remembered place”—I see beneath an English skyA child with brooding face.The curious realm he chose to buildAnd paint with any hues he willedIs all I strive to trace,Where odds and ends of memory smileLike bits of heaven, through clouds awhile.And some for charts and maps would call,But here, beside the fire,The kakemono on the wallIs all that we require.A chanty piped by bosun LearMay float around us while we steerOur hearts to their desire—The Nonsense Land beyond the sunWhere West and East, at last, are one.Then let the rigging hum the talesThat Tusitala[1]toldWhen first we spread our purple sailsIn quest of pirate gold;For, though he waved us all good-byeBeneath the deep Samoan sky,His heart was blithe and bold,And hailed across a darker mainThe shadowy hills of home again.So we, who now adventure farBeyond the singing foam,May see, in every dipping star,The harbour lights of home;And, finding still, as all have found,That every ship is homeward bound,(For none could ever roamA sea too wide for heaven to span)Sail on—sail on—to Old Japan.

A rambling cherry-petalled stream;

A bridge of pale bamboo;

A path that seemed a twisted dream

Where everything came true;

A crimson-lanternedgarden-house

With jutting eaves below the boughs;

The slant-eyed elves in blue

With soft slip-slapping heels and toes

Dancing before the Daimyōs:

“And is it Old Japan,” you cry“That half-remembered place”—I see beneath an English skyA child with brooding face.The curious realm he chose to buildAnd paint with any hues he willedIs all I strive to trace,Where odds and ends of memory smileLike bits of heaven, through clouds awhile.

“And is it Old Japan,” you cry

“That half-remembered place”—

I see beneath an English sky

A child with brooding face.

The curious realm he chose to build

And paint with any hues he willed

Is all I strive to trace,

Where odds and ends of memory smile

Like bits of heaven, through clouds awhile.

And some for charts and maps would call,But here, beside the fire,The kakemono on the wallIs all that we require.A chanty piped by bosun LearMay float around us while we steerOur hearts to their desire—The Nonsense Land beyond the sunWhere West and East, at last, are one.

And some for charts and maps would call,

But here, beside the fire,

The kakemono on the wall

Is all that we require.

A chanty piped by bosun Lear

May float around us while we steer

Our hearts to their desire—

The Nonsense Land beyond the sun

Where West and East, at last, are one.

Then let the rigging hum the talesThat Tusitala[1]toldWhen first we spread our purple sailsIn quest of pirate gold;For, though he waved us all good-byeBeneath the deep Samoan sky,His heart was blithe and bold,And hailed across a darker mainThe shadowy hills of home again.

Then let the rigging hum the tales

That Tusitala[1]told

When first we spread our purple sails

In quest of pirate gold;

For, though he waved us all good-bye

Beneath the deep Samoan sky,

His heart was blithe and bold,

And hailed across a darker main

The shadowy hills of home again.

So we, who now adventure farBeyond the singing foam,May see, in every dipping star,The harbour lights of home;And, finding still, as all have found,That every ship is homeward bound,(For none could ever roamA sea too wide for heaven to span)Sail on—sail on—to Old Japan.

So we, who now adventure far

Beyond the singing foam,

May see, in every dipping star,

The harbour lights of home;

And, finding still, as all have found,

That every ship is homeward bound,

(For none could ever roam

A sea too wide for heaven to span)

Sail on—sail on—to Old Japan.

1. Robert Louis Stevenson.

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