WAS I a Samurai renowned, Two-sworded, fierce, immense of bow? A histrion angular and profound? A priest? a porter?—Child, although I have forgotten clean, I know That in the shade of Fujisan, What time the cherry-orchards blow, I loved you once in old Japan.
As here you loiter, flowing-gowned And hugely sashed, with pins a-row Your quaint head as with flamelets crowned, Demure, inviting—even so, When merry maids in Miyako To feel the sweet o’ the year began, And green gardens to overflow, I loved you once in old Japan.
Clear shine the hills; the rice-fields round Two cranes are circling; sleepy and slow, A blue canal the lake’s blue bound Breaks at the bamboo bridge; and lo! Touched with the sundown’s spirit and glow, I see you turn, with flirted fan, Against the plum-tree’s bloomy snow . . . I loved you once in old Japan!
Dear, ’twas a dozen lives ago; But that I was a lucky man The Toyokuni here will show: I loved you—once—in old Japan.
BALLADE (DOUBLE REFRAIN) OF YOUTH AND AGE
SPRING at her height on a morn at prime, Sails that laugh from a flying squall, Pomp of harmony, rapture of rhyme— Youth is the sign of them, one and all. Winter sunsets and leaves that fall, An empty flagon, a folded page, A tumble-down wheel, a tattered ball— These are a type of the world of Age.
Bells that clash in a gaudy chime, Swords that clatter in onsets tall, The words that ring and the fames that climb— Youth is the sign of them, one and all. Hymnals old in a dusty stall, A bald, blind bird in a crazy cage, The scene of a faded festival— These are a type of the world of Age.
Hours that strut as the heirs of time, Deeds whose rumour’s a clarion-call, Songs where the singers their souls sublime— Youth is the sign of them, one and all. A staff that rests in a nook of wall, A reeling battle, a rusted gage, The chant of a nearing funeral— These are a type of the world of Age.
Struggle and turmoil, revel and brawl— Youth is the sign of them, one and all. A smouldering hearth and a silent stage— These are a type of the world of Age.
BALLADE (DOUBLE REFRAIN) OF MIDSUMMER DAYS AND NIGHTS
WITH a ripple of leaves and a tinkle of streams The full world rolls in a rhythm of praise, And the winds are one with the clouds and beams— Midsummer days! Midsummer days! The dusk grows vast; in a purple haze, While the West from a rapture of sunset rights, Faint stars their exquisite lamps upraise— Midsummer nights! O midsummer nights!