Old Japan
In
old
Japan,
by
creek
and
bay,
The
blue
plum-blossoms
blow,
Where
birds
with
sea-blue
plumage
gay
Through
sea-blue
branches
go:
Dragons
are
coiling
down
below
Like
dragons
on
a
fan;
And
pig-tailed
sailors
lurching
slow
Through
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
Through
streets
of
old
Japan.
From
Wonderland
to
Yea-or-Nay
The
junks
with
painted
prow
Dream
on
the
purple
water-way
Nor
ever
meet
a
foe;
Though
still,
with
stiff
mustachio
And
crooked
ataghan,
Their
pirates
guard
with
pomp
and
show
The
ships
of
old
Japan.
How
far
beyond
the
dawning
day
The
glories
ebb
and
flow,
Where
still
the
wonder-children
play,
The
witches
mop
and
mow;
How
far,
how
far,
no
chart
may
show,
The
heart
of
mortal
man,
The
light,
the
splendour,
and
the
glow
That
once
were
old
Japan!
That
land
is
very
far
away
We
lost
it
long
ago!
In
old
Japan
the
grass
is
grey,
The
trees
are
white
with
snow;
The
sea-blue
bird
became
a
crow,
The
lizards
leapt
and
ran,
No
dragon
mourned
that
overthrow,
The
dream
of
old
Japan.
In
old
Japan,
at
windows
grey,
Where
scents
of
opium
flow,
Strange
smiling
faces,
white
as
clay,
Nod
idly
to
and
fro;
There
life
and
death
may
come
and
go,
With
blessing
or
with
ban,
And
still
no
better
gift
bestow
Than
this,
in
old
Japan.
And
now
the
wistful
years
delay
To
wonder
why
and
how
The
blue
fantastic
twisted
day,
When
Emperor
Hwang
or
Chow
Dreamed
in
the
colour
and
the
glow
That
light
the
heart
of
man,
Could
e’er
such
hours
of
flowers
bestrow
Through
streets
of
old
Japan.
In
old
Japan
they
used
to
play
A
game
forgotten
now;
They
filled
a
nacre-coloured
tray
With
perfumes
in
a
row,
Breathing
of
all
the
flowers
that
blow
Where
dark-blue
rivers
ran,
Like
those
upon
the
plates,
you
know,
Through
fields
of
old
Japan;
Then
with
silver
spatula
The
mandarins
would
go
To
test
the
scented
dust
and
say,
With
many
a
hum
and
ho,
What
flower
of
all
the
flowers
that
grow
For
joy
of
maid
or
man,
Conceived
the
scents
that
puzzled
so
The
brains
of
old
Japan.
In
old
Japan,
where
poets
pray
With
white
uplifted
brow,
What
mystic
floating
scents
delay
Below
the
purple
bough,
O’er
plains
no
scythe
of
death
may
mow,
Nor
power
of
reason
scan?
What
mandarin
musicians
know
The
flower
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
Through
streets
of
old
Japan.
