Альфред Нойес (Alfred Noyes)

A Triple Ballad of Old Japan

    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 crookéd 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 Kyotó,
    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 Samúrai 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._

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