A SONG OF THE OLD VENETIANS

The seven fleets of Venice Set sail across the sea For Cyprus and for Trebizond Ayoub and Araby. Their gonfalons are floating far, St. Mark's has heard the mass, And to the noon the salt lagoon Lies white, like burning glass. The seven fleets of Venice— And each its way to go, Led by a Falier or Tron, Zorzi or Dandalo. The Patriarch has blessed them all, The Doge has waved the word, And in their wings the murmurings Of waiting winds are heard. The seven fleets of Venice— And what shall be their fate? One shall return with porphyry And pearl and fair agàte. One shall return with spice and spoil And silk of Samarcand. But nevermore shall one win o'er The sea, to any land. Oh, they shall bring the East back, And they shall bring the West, The seven fleets our Venice sets A-sail upon her quest. But some shall bring despair back And some shall leave their keels Deeper than wind or wave frets, Or sun ever steals.

If I were in Japan today, In little Japan today, I'd watch the sampan-rowers ride On Yokohama bay. I'd watch the little flower-folk Pass on the Bund, where play Of "foreign" music fills their ears With wonder new alway. Or in a kuruma I'd step And "Noge-yama!" cry, And bare brown feet should wheel me fast Where Noge-yama, high Above the city and sea's vast Uprises, with the sigh Of pines about its festal fanes Built free to sun and sky. And there till dusk I'd sit and think Of Shaka Muni, lord Of Buddhas; or of Fudo's fire And rope and lifted sword. And, ere I left, a surging shade Of clouds, a distant horde, Should break and Fugi's cone stand clear— With sutras overscored. Sutras of ice and rock and snow, Written by hands of heat And thaw upon it, till 'twould seem Meant for the final seat Of the lord Buddha and his bliss— If ever he repeat This life where millions still are bound Within Illusion's cheat.

Or were I in Japan today— Perchance at Kyoto— Down Tera-machi I would search For charm or curio. Up narrow stairs in sandals pure Of soil or dust I'd go Into a room of magic shapes— Gods, dragons, dread Nio. And seated on the silent mats, With many a treasure near— Of ivory the gods have dreamt, And satsuma as dear, Of bronzes whose mysterious mint Seems not of now or here— I'd buy and dream and dream and buy, Lost far in Mâyâ's sphere. Then gathering up my gains at last, Mid "sayonaras" soft And bows and gentle courtesies Repeated oft and oft, My host and I should part—"O please The skies much weal to waft His years," I'd think, then cross San-jo To fair Chion-in aloft. For set aloft and set apart, Beyond the city's din, Under the shade of ancient heights Lies templed calm Chion-in. And there the great bell's booming fills Its gates all day, and thin Low beating on mokugyo, by Priests passioning for sin. And there the sun upon its courts And carvings, gods and graves, Rests as no light of earth-lands known, Like to Nirvana laves And washes with sweet under-flow Into the soul's far caves. And no more shall this life seem real To one who feels its waves. "No more!" I'd say, then wander on To Kiyomizu-shrine, Which is so old antiquity's Far self cannot divine Its birth, but knows that Kwannon, she Of mercy's might benign, Has reached her thousand hands always From it to Nippon's line. And She should hear my many prayers, And have my freest gifts. And many days beside her should I watch the crystal rifts Of Otawa's clear waters earn Their way, o'er rocks and drifts, Beside the trestled temple down— Like murmurs of sweet shrifts. Then, when the city wearied me, To Katsura I'd wend— A garden hid across green miles Of rice-lands quaintly penned. And, by the stork-bestridden lake, I'd walk or musing mend My soul with lotus-memories And hopes—without an end.

Or were I in Japan today, Hiroshima should call My heart—Hiroshima built round Her ancient castle wall. By the low flowering moat where sun And silence ever fall Into a swoon, I'd build again Old days of Daimyo thrall. Of charge and bloody countercharge, When many a samurai Fierce-panoplied fell at its pale, Suppressing groan or cry; Suppressing all but silent hates That swept from eye to eye, While lips smiled decorously on, Or mocked urbane goodbye. Then to the river I would pass And drift upon its tide By many a tea-house hung in bloom Above its mirrored side. And geisha fluttering gay before Their guests should pause in pied Kimono, then with laughter bright Behind the shoji hide. Unto an isle of Ugina's Low port my craft should swing, Or scarce an island seems it now To my fair fancying, But a shrined jut of earth up thro The sea from which to sing Unto the evening star of all Night's incarnations bring. Then backward thro the darkened streets I'd walk: long lanterns writ With ghostly characters should dance Beside each door, or flit, Thin paper spirits, to and fro And mow the wind, when it Demanded of them reverence And passed with twirl or twit. What music, too, of samisen And koto I should hear! Tinkle on weirder tinkle thro The strangely wistful ear What shadows on the shoji-door Of my dim soul should veer All night in sleep, and haunt the light Of many a coming year!

Or were I in Japan today, From Ujina I'd sail For mountain-isled Migajima Upon the distance, frail As the mirage, to Amida, Of this world's transient tale, Where he sits clothed in boundless light And sees it vainly ail. Up to the great sea-torii, Its temple-gate, I'd wind, There furl my sail beneath its beam; And soon my soul should find What it shall never, tho it sift The world elsewhere, and blind Itself at last with sight of all Earth's blisses to mankind. "Migajima! Migajima!" How would enchantment chant The syllables within me, till Desire should cease and pant Of passion press no more my will— But let charmed peace supplant All thought of birth and death and birth— Yea, karma turn askant. For on Migajima none may Give birth and none may die— Since birth and death are equal sins Unto the wise. So I Should muse all day where the sea spills Its murmur softly by The still stone lanterns all arow Under the deathless sky. And under cryptomeria-tree And camphor-tree and pine, And tall pagoda, rising roof On roof into the shine Of the pure air—red roof on roof, With memories in each line Of far Confucian China where They first were held divine. And o'er Migajima the moon Should rise for me again. So magical its glow, I dare Think of it only when My heart is strong to shun the snare Of witcheries that men May lose their souls in evermore, Nor, after, care nor ken.

Yes, were I in Japan today These things I'd do, and more. For Ise gleams in royal groves, And Nara with its lore, And Nikko hid in mountains—where The Shogun, great of yore, Built timeless tombs whose glory glooms Funereally o'er. These things I'd do! But last of all, On Kamakura's lea, I'd seek Daibutsu's face of calm And still the final sea Of all the West within me—from Its fret and fever free My spirit—into patience, peace, And passion's mastery.