Song

The maidens of MiyakoDance in the sunset hours,Deep in the sunset glow,Under the cherry flowers.

With dreamy hands of pearlFloating like butterflies,Dimly the dancers whirlAs the rose-light dies;

And their floating gowns, their hairUpbound with curious pins,Fade thro' the darkening airWith the dancing mandarins.

And then, as we went, the tall thin manExplained the manners of Old Japan;If you pitied a thing, you pretended to sneer;Yet if you were glad you ran to buyA captive pigeon and let it fly;And, if you were sad, you took a spearTo wound yourself, for fear your painShould quietly grow less again.

And, again he said, if we wished to findThe mystic City that enshrinedThe stone so few on earth had found,We must be very brave; it layA hundred haunted leagues away,Past many a griffon-guarded ground,In depths of dark and curious art,Where passion-flowers enfold apartThe Temple of the Flaming Heart,The City of the Secret Wound.

About the fragrant fall of dayWe saw beside the twisted wayA blue-domed tea-house, bossed with gold;Hungry and thirsty we entered in,How should we know what Creeping SinHad breathed in that Emperor's ear who soldHis own dumb soul for an evil jewelTo the earth-gods, blind and ugly and cruel?We drank sweet tea as his tale was told,In a garden of blue chrysanthemums,While a drowsy swarming of gongs and drumsOut of the sunset dreamily rolled.

But, as the murmur nearer drew,A fat black bonze, in a robe of blue,Suddenly at the gate appeared;And close behind, with that evil grin,Was it Creeping Sin, was it Creeping Sin?The bonze looked quietly down and sneered.Our guide! Was he sleeping? We could not wake him.However we tried to pinch and shake him!

Nearer, nearer the tumult came,Till, as a glare of sound and flame,Blind from a terrible furnace doorBlares, or the mouth of a dragon, blazedThe seething gateway: deaf and dazedWith the clanging and the wild uproarWe stood; while a thousand oval eyesGapped our fear with a sick surmise.

Then, as the dead sea parted asunder,The clamour clove with a sound of thunderIn two great billows; and all was quiet.Gaunt and black was the palankeenThat came in dreadful state betweenThe frozen waves of the wild-eyed riotCurling back from the breathless trackOf the Nameless One who is never seen:The close drawn curtains were thick and black;But wizen and white was the tall thin manAs he rose in his sleep:His eyes were closed, his lips were wan,He crouched like a leopard that dares not leap.

The bearers halted: the tall thin man,Fearfully dreaming, waved his fan,With wizard fingers, to and fro;While, with a whimper of evil glee,The Nameless Emperor's mad MoonsheeStepped in front of us: dark and slowWere the words of the doom that he dared not name;But, over the ground, as he spoke there cameTiny circles of soft blue flame;Like ghosts of flowers they began to glow,And flow like a moonlit brook betweenOur feet and the terrible palankeen.

But the Moonshee wrinkled his long thin eyes,And sneered, "Have you stolen the strength of the skies?Then pour before us a stream of pearl!Give us the pearl and the gold we know,And our hearts will be softened and let you go;But these are toys for a foolish girl--These vanishing blossoms--what are they worth?They are not so heavy as dust and earth:Pour before us a stream of pearl!"

Then, with a wild strange laugh, our guideStretched his arms to the West and criedOnce, and a song came over the sea;And all the blossoms of moon-soft fireWoke and breathed as a wind-swept lyre,And the garden surged into harmony;Till it seemed that the soul of the whole world sung,And every petal became a tongueTo tell the thoughts of Eternity.

But the Moonshee lifted his painted browsAnd stared at the gold on the blue tea-house:"Can you clothe your body with dreams?" he sneered;"If you taught us the truths that we always knowOur heart might be softened and let you go:Can you tell us the length of a monkey's beard,Or the weight of the gems on the Emperor's fan,Or the number of parrots in Old Japan?"

And again, with a wild strange laugh, our guideLooked at him; and he shrunk aside,Shrivelling like a flame-touched leaf;For the red-cross blossoms of soft blue fireWere growing and fluttering higher and higher,Shaking their petals out, sheaf by sheaf,Till with disks like shields and stems like towersBurned the host of the passion-flowers... Had the Moonshee flown like a midnight thief?... Yet a thing like a monkey, shrivelled and black,Chattered and danced as they forced him back.

As the coward chatters for empty pride,In the face of a foe that he cannot but fear,It chattered and leapt from side to side,And its voice rang strangely upon the ear.As the cry of a wizard that dares not ownAnother's brighter and mightier throne;As the wrath of a fool that rails aloudOn the fire that burnt him; the brazen brayClamoured and sang o'er the gaping crowd,And flapped like a gabbling goose away.