The illimitable leaping of the sea, The mouthing of his madness to the moon, The seething of his endless sorcery, His prophecy no power can attune, Swept over me as, on the sounding prow Of a great ship that steered into the stars, I stood and felt the awe upon my brow Of death and destiny and all that mars.
II
The wind that blew from Cassiopeia cast Wanly upon my ear a rune that rung; The sailor in his eyrie on the mast Sang an "All's well," that to the spirit clung Like a lost voice from some aërial realm Where ships sail on forever to no shore, Where Time gives Immortality the helm, And fades like a far phantom from life's door.
III
"And is all well, O Thou Unweariable Launcher of worlds upon bewildered space," Rose in me, "All? or did thy hand grow dull Building this world that bears a piteous race? O was it launched too soon or launched too late? Or can it be a derelict that drifts Beyond thy ken toward some reef of Fate On which Oblivion's sand forever shifts?"
IV
The sea grew softer as I questioned – calm With mystery that like an answer moved, And from infinity there fell a balm, The old peace that God is, tho all unproved. The old faith that tho gulfs sidereal stun The soul, and knowledge drown within their deep, There is no world that wanders, no not one Of all the millions, that He does not keep.
THE PROSELYTE RECANTS
(In Japan)
Where the fair golden idols Sit in darkness and in silence While the temple drum beats solemnly and slow; Where the tall cryptomerias Sway in worship round about And the rain that is falling whispers low; I can hear strange voices Of the dead and forgotten, On the dimly rising incense I can see The lives I have lived, And my lives unbegotten, Namu Amida Butsu pity me!
I was born this karma Of a mother in Chuzenji, Where Nantai-zan looks down into the lake; Where the white-thronged pilgrims Climb to altars in the clouds And behold the holy eastern dawn awake. It was there I wandered Till a priest of the Christians With the crucifix he wore compelled my gaze. In grief I had grown, So upon its grief I pondered. Namu Amida Butsu, keep my days!
It was wrong, he told me, To pray Jiso for my children, And Binzuru for healing of my ills. And our gods so many Were conceived, he said, in sin, From Lord Shaka to the least upon the hills. In despair I listened For my heart beat hopeless, Not a temple of my land had helped me live. But alas that day When I let my soul be christened! Namu Amida Butsu, O forgive!
For the Christ they gave me As the only Law and Lotus, As the only way to Light that will not wane, May perchance have power For the people of the West, But to me he seemed the servitor of pain. For in pain he perished As one born to passion: In some other life no doubt his sin was great, Tho they told me no, Those who followed him and cherished. Namu Amida Butsu, such is fate.
So again to idols Of the Buddha who is boundless, While the temple drum is beating thro the rain, I have turned from treason Into Meditation's truth, From the strife the Western god regards as gain. And if now I'm dying As the voices tell me, To the lives that I must live I'll meekly go; Till my long grief ends In Nirvana, and my sighing. Namu Amida Butsu, be it so!
LOVE IN JAPAN
I
Dragon-fly lighting On the temple-bell, Whose soul do you hear On the Day of the Dead? The soul of my lover? Ah me, the plighting Between two hearts That were never wed!
Dragon-fly, quickly, The priest is coming! Oh, the boom Of the bitter bell! Now you are gone And my tears fall thickly. How of Heaven Do the gods make Hell!
II
The sêmi is silent (Autumn rains!) The wind-bells tinkle (How chill it is!) The quick lights come On the shoji-panes. Come, O Baku, Eater of dreams!
The maple darkens (Pale grow I!) The near night shivers (The temple fades.)
Haunting love Will not cease to cry! Come, O Baku, Eater of dreams!
The wild mists gather (Ah, my tears!) The pane-lights vanish (For some there is rest.) But for me — The remembered years! Come, O Baku, Eater of dreams!
MAPLE LEAVES ON MIYAJIMA
The summer has come, The summer has gone, And the maple leaves lift fairy hands That ripple upon the winds of dawn Where the dim pagoda stands. They ripple and beckon yearningly To their sister fairies over the sea, But help comes not, So they fall and flee From Autumn over the sands.
And down the mountain And into the tide, Some are blown where the sampans glide, And some are strewn by the temple's side, And some by the torii. But Autumn ever Pursues them till, As ever before, She has her will, And leaves them desolate, dead and still, Ravished afar and wide; Leaves them desolate; crying shrill, "No beauty shall abide!"
TYPHOON
(At Hong-kong)
I was weary and slept on the Peak; The air clung close like a shroud, And ever the blue-fly's buzz in my ear Hung haunting and hot and loud; I awoke and the sky was dun With awe and a dread that soon Went shuddering thro my heart, for I knew That it meant typhoon! typhoon!
In the harbour below, far down, The junks like fowl in a flock Were tossing in wingless terror, or fled Fluttering in from the shock. The city, a breathless bend Of roofs, by the water strewn, Lay silent and waiting, yet there was none Within it but said typhoon!
Then it came, like a million winds Gone mad immeasurably, A torrid and tortuous tempest stung By rape of the fair South Sea. And it swept like a scud escaped From craters of sun or moon, And struck as no power of Heaven could, Or of Hell – typhoon! typhoon!
And the junks were smitten and torn, The drowning struggled and cried, Or, dashed on the granite walls of the sea, In succourless hundreds died. Till I shut the sight from my eyes And prayed for my soul to swoon: If ever I see God's face, let it Be guiltless of that typhoon!
PENANG
I want to go back to Singapore And ship along the Straits, To a bungalow I know beside Penang; Where cocoanut palms along the shore Are waving, and the gates Of Peace shut Sorrow out forevermore. I want to go back and hear the surf Come beating in at night, Like the washing of eternity over the dead. I want to see dawn fare up and day Go down in golden light; I want to go back to Penang! I want to go back!
I want to go back to Singapore And up along the Straits To the bungalow that waits me by the tide. Where the Tamil and Malay tell their lore At evening – and the fates Have set no soothless canker at life's core. I want to go back and mend my heart Beneath the tropic moon, While the tamarind-tree is whispering thoughts of sleep. I want to believe that Earth again With Heaven is in tune. I want to go back to Penang! I want to go back!
I want to go back to Singapore And ship along the Straits To the bungalow I left upon the strand. Where the foam of the world grows faint before It enters, and abates In meaning as I hear the palm-wind pour. I want to go back and end my days Some evening when the Cross On the southern sky hangs heavily far and sad. I want to remember when I die That life elsewhere was loss. I want to go back to Penang! I want to go back!