Collected Poems Volume I Part 6

Yes; there was the port of Old j.a.pan, With its twisted patterns, white and wan, Shining like a mottled fan Spread by the blue sea, faint and far; And far away we heard once more A sound of singing on the sh.o.r.e, Where boys in blue kimonos bore Roses in a golden jar: And we heard, where the cherry orchards blow, The serpent-charmers fluting low, And the song of the maidens of Miyako.

And at our feet unbroken lay The gla.s.s that had whirled us thither away: And in the gra.s.s, among the flowers We sat and wished all sorts of things: O, we were wealthier than kings!

We ruled the world for several hours!

And then, it seemed, we knew not why, All the daisies began to die.

We wished them alive again; but soon The trees all fled up towards the moon Like peac.o.c.ks through the sunlit air: And the b.u.t.terflies flapped into silver fish; And each wish spoiled another wish; Till we threw the gla.s.s down in despair; For, getting whatever you want to get, Is like drinking tea from a fishing net.

At last we thought we'd wish once more That all should be as it was before; And then we'd shatter the gla.s.s, if we could; But just as the world grew right again, We heard a wanderer out on the plain Singing what none of us understood; Yet we thought that the world grew thrice more sweet And the meadows were blossoming under his feet.

And we felt a grand and beautiful fear, For we knew that a marvellous thought drew near; So we kept the gla.s.s for a little while: And the skies grew deeper and twice as bright, And the seas grew soft as a flower of light, And the meadows rippled from stile to stile; And memories danced in a musical throng Thro' the blossom that scented the wonderful song.

SONG

_We sailed across the silver seas And saw the sea-blue bowers, We saw the purple cherry trees, And all the foreign flowers, We travelled in a palanquin Beyond the caravan, And yet our hearts had never seen The Flower of Old j.a.pan._

_The Flower above all other flowers, The Flower that never dies; Before whose throne the scented hours Offer their sacrifice; The Flower that here on earth below Reveals the heavenly plan; But only little children know The Flower of Old j.a.pan._

There, in the dim blue flowery plain We wished with the magic gla.s.s again To go to the Flower of the song's desire: And o'er us the whole of the soft blue sky Flashed like fire as the world went by, And far beneath us the sea like fire Flashed in one swift blue brilliant stream, And the journey was done, like a change in a dream.

PART IV

THE END OF THE QUEST

Like the dawn upon a dream Slowly through the scented gloom Crept once more the ruddy gleam O'er the friendly nursery room.

There, before our waking eyes, Large and ghostly, white and dim, Dreamed the Flower that never dies, Opening wide its rosy rim.

Spreading like a ghostly fan, Petals white as porcelain, There the Flower of Old j.a.pan Told us we were home again; For a soft and curious light Suddenly was o'er it shed.

And we saw it was a white English daisy, ringed with red.

Slowly, as a wavering mist Waned the wonder out of sight, To a sigh of amethyst, To a wraith of scented light.

Flower and magic gla.s.s had gone; Near the clutching fire we sat Dreaming, dreaming, all alone, Each upon a furry mat.

While the firelight, red and clear, Fluttered in the black wet pane, It was very good to hear Howling winds and trotting rain.

For we found at last we knew More than all our fancy planned, All the fairy tales were true, And home the heart of fairyland.

EPILOGUE

Carol, every violet has Heaven for a looking-gla.s.s!

Every little valley lies Under many-clouded skies; Every little cottage stands Girt about with boundless lands.

Every little glimmering pond Claims the mighty sh.o.r.es beyond-- Sh.o.r.es no seamen ever hailed, Seas no ship has ever sailed.

All the sh.o.r.es when day is done Fade into the setting sun, So the story tries to teach More than can be told in speech.

Beauty is a fading flower, Truth is but a wizard's tower, Where a solemn death-bell tolls, And a forest round it rolls.

We have come by curious ways To the Light that holds the days; We have sought in haunts of fear For that all-enfolding sphere: And lo! it was not far, but near.

We have found, O foolish-fond, The sh.o.r.e that has no sh.o.r.e beyond.

Deep in every heart it lies With its untranscended skies; For what heaven should bend above Hearts that own the heaven of love?

Carol, Carol, we have come Back to heaven, back to home.

APES AND IVORY

Apes and ivory, skulls and roses, in junks of old Hong-Kong, Gliding over a sea of dreams to a haunted sh.o.r.e of song, Masts of gold and sails of satin, shimmering out of the East, O, Love has little need of you now to make his heart a feast.

Or is it an elephant, white as milk and bearing a severed head That tatters his broad soft wrinkled flank in tawdry patches of red, With a negro giant to walk beside and a temple dome above, Where ruby and emerald shatter the sun,--is it these that should please my love?

Or is it a palace of pomegranates, where ivory-limbed young slaves Lure a luxury out of the noon in the swooning fountain's waves; Or couch like cats and sun themselves on the warm white marble brink?

O, Love has little to ask of these, this day in May, I think.

Is it Lebanon cedars or purple fruits of the honeyed southron air, Spikenard, saffron, roses of Sharon, cinnamon, calamus, myrrh, A bed of spices, a fountain of waters, or the wild white wings of a dove, Now, when the winter is over and gone, is it these that should please my love?

The leaves outburst on the hazel-bough and the hawthorn's heaped wi' flower, And G.o.d has bidden the crisp clouds build my love a lordlier tower, Taller than Lebanon, whiter than snow, in the fresh blue skies above; And the wild rose wakes in the winding lanes of the radiant land I love.

_Apes and ivory, skulls and roses, in junks of old Hong-Kong, Gliding over a sea of dreams to a haunted sh.o.r.e of song, Masts of gold and sails of satin, shimmering out of the East, O, Love has little need of you now to make his heart a feast._

A SONG OF SHERWOOD

Sherwood in the twilight, is Robin Hood awake?

Grey and ghostly shadows are gliding through the brake, Shadows of the dappled deer, dreaming of the morn, Dreaming of a shadowy man that winds a shadowy horn.

Robin Hood is here again: all his merry thieves Hear a ghostly bugle-note shivering through the leaves, Calling as he used to call, faint and far away, In Sherwood, in Sherwood, about the break of day.

Merry, merry England has kissed the lips of June: All the wings of fairyland were here beneath the moon, Like a flight of rose-leaves fluttering in a mist Of opal and ruby and pearl and amethyst.

Merry, merry England is waking as of old, With eyes of blither hazel and hair of brighter gold: For Robin Hood is here again beneath the bursting spray In Sherwood, in Sherwood, about the break of day.

Love is in the greenwood building him a house Of wild rose and hawthorn and honeysuckle boughs: Love is in the greenwood, dawn is in the skies, And Marian is waiting with a glory in her eyes.

Hark! The dazzled laverock climbs the golden steep!

Marian is waiting: is Robin Hood asleep?

Round the fairy gra.s.s-rings frolic elf and fay, In Sherwood, in Sherwood, about the break of day.

Oberon, Oberon, rake away the gold, Rake away the red leaves, roll away the mould, Rake away the gold leaves, roll away the red, And wake Will Scarlett from his leafy forest bed.