A Triple Ballad of Old Japan

In old Japan, by creek and bay,The blue plum-blossoms blow,Where birds with sea-blue plumage gayThro' sea-blue branches go:Dragons are coiling down belowLike dragons on a fan;And pig-tailed sailors lurching slowThro' streets of old Japan.

There, in the dim blue death of dayWhere white tea-roses grow,Petals and scents are strewn astrayTill night be sweet enow,Then lovers wander whispering lowAs lovers only can,Where rosy paper lanterns glowThro' streets of old Japan.

From Wonderland to Yea-or-NayThe junks of Weal-and-WoeDream on the purple water-wayNor ever meet a foe;Though still, with stiff mustachioAnd crookéd ataghan,Their pirates guard with pomp and showThe 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 wanThe dawn on Fusiyama's snow,The peak of old Japan.

Half smilingly, our hearts delay,Half mournfully foregoThe blue fantastic twisted dayWhen faithful Konojo,For small white Lily Hasu-koKnelt in the Butsudan,And her tomb opened to bestrowLilies thro' old Japan.

There was a game they used to playI' the San-ju-san-jen Do,They filled a little lacquer trayWith powders in a row,Dry dust of flowers from TashiroTo Mount Daimugenzan,Dry little heaps of dust, but OThey breathed of old Japan.

Then knights in blue and gold arrayWould on their thumbs bestowA pinch from every heap and say,With many a hum and ho,What blossoms, nodding to and froFor joy of maid or man,Conceived the scents that puzzled soThe brains of old Japan.

The hundred ghosts have ceased to affrayThe dust of Kyotó,Ah yet, what phantom blooms a-swayMurmur, a-loft, a-low,In dells no scythe of death can mow,No power of reason scan,O, what Samúrai singers knowThe 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 bowAnd laughs--from old Japan.

There, in the dim blue death of dayWhere white tea-roses grow,Petals and scents are strewn astrayTill night be sweet enow,Then lovers wander, whispering low,As lovers only can,Where rosy paper lanterns glowThro' streets of old Japan.