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In old Japan, by creek and bay, The blue plum-blossoms blow, Where birds with sea-blue plumage gay Thro' sea-blue branches go: Dragons are coiling down below Like dragons on a fan; And pig-tailed sailors lurching slow Thro' streets of old Japan. There, in the dim blue death of day Where white tea-roses grow Petals and scents are strewn astray Till night be sweet enow. Then lovers wander whispering low As lovers only can, Where rosy paper lanterns glow Thro' streets of old Japan. From Wonderland to Yea-or-Nay The junks of Weal-and-Woe Dream on the purple water-way Nor ever meet a foe; Though still, with stiff mustachio And crooked ataghan, Their pirates guard with pomp and show The ships of old Japan. That land is very far away, We lost it long ago! No fairies ride the cherry spray, No witches mop and mow, The violet wells have ceased to flow; And O, how faint and wan The dawn on Fusiyama's snow. The peak of old Japan. Half smilingly our hearts delay, Half mournfully forego The blue fantastic twisted day When faithful Konojo, For small white Lily Hasu-ko Knelt in the Butsudan, And her tomb opened to bestrow Lilies thro' old Japan. There was a game they used to play I' the San-ju-san-jen Do, They filled a little lacquer tray With powders in a row, Dry dust of flowers from Tashiro To Mount Daimugenzan, Dry little heaps of dust, but O They breathed of old Japan. Then knights in blue and gold array Would on their thumbs bestow A pinch from every heap and say, With many a hum and ho, What blossoms, nodding to and fro For joy of maid or man, Conceived the scents that puzzled so The brains of old Japan. The hundred ghosts have ceased to affray The dust of Kyoto, Ah yet, what phantom blooms a-sway Murmur, a-loft, a-low, In dells no scythe of death can mow, No power of reason scan, O, what Samurai singers know The Flower of old Japan? Dry dust of blossoms, dim and gray, Lost on the wind? Ah, no. Hark, from yon clump of English may, A cherub's mocking crow, A sudden twang, a sweet, swift throe, As Daisy trips by Dan, And careless Cupid drops his bow And laughs—from old Japan. There, in the dim blue death of day Where white tea-roses grow, Petals and scents are strewn astray Till night be sweet enow. Then lovers wander, whispering low As lovers only can, Where rosy paper lanterns glow Thro' streets of old Japan. |