IX. THE DISTANT TEMPLE

Branch of the henna-tree, Blown in a temple garden far away In that unfading East across the sea, O for one waft of perfume from your spray To cheer the heart in me! Flower of the champa white, Sown by the evening wind where dusky feet Have worn the temple pavement with their beat, I would lie down and give my soul to-night Could I but breathe your sweet! Note of the temple gong At sunset clanging through the dusty gold, Since last I heard your nightly music told It seems as though the months were ages long And joy itself grown old. Heart of the East, my heart, Laden with your remembrance, may not rest; The very winds that blow from east to west From out that far horizon-line, impart Your whisper, trebly blest. Sound of the temple drum, Like distant beating of the march of fate, Through the long years your voice is never dumb, Calling, at sundown, from the temple gate To me, who cannot come.