_All along the purple creek, lit with silver foam, Silent, silent voices, cry no more of home!

Soft beyond the cherry-trees, o'er the dim lagoon, Dawns the crimson lantern of the large low moon._

We that loved in April, we that turned away Laughing ere the wood-dove crooned across the May, Watch the withered rose-leaves drift along the sh.o.r.e.

Wind among the roses, blow no more!

We the Sons of Reason, we that chose to bride Knowledge, and rejected the Dream that we denied, We that chose the Wisdom that triumphs for an hour, We that let the young love perish like a flower....

We that hurt the kind heart, we that went astray, We that in the darkness idly dreamed of day....

... Ah! The dreary rose-leaves drift along the sh.o.r.e.

Wind among the roses, blow no more!

Lonely starry faces, wonderful and white, Yearning with a cry across the dim sweet night, All our dreams are blown a-drift as flowers before a fan, All our hearts are haunted in the heart of old j.a.pan.

Haunted, haunted, haunted--we that mocked and sinned Hear the vanished voices wailing down the wind, Watch the ruined rose-leaves drift along the sh.o.r.e.

Wind among the roses, blow no more!

_All along the purple creek, lit with silver foam, Sobbing, sobbing voices, cry no more of home!

Soft beyond the cherry-trees, o'er the dim lagoon, Dawns the crimson lantern of the large low moon._

NECROMANCY

(AFTER THE PROSE OF BAUDELAIRE)

This necromantic palace, dim and rich, Dim as a dream, rich as a reverie, I knew it all of old, surely I knew This floating twilight tinged with rose and blue, This moon-soft carven niche Whence the calm marble, wan as memory, Slopes to the wine-brimmed bath of cold dark fire Perfumed with old regret and dead desire.

There the soul, slumbering in the purple waves Of indolence, dreams of the phantom years, Dreams of the wild sweet flower of red young lips Meeting and murmuring in the dark eclipse Of joy, where pain still craves One tear of love to mingle with their tears, One pa.s.sionate welcome ere the wild farewell, One flash of heaven across the fires of h.e.l.l.

Queen of my dreams, queen of my pitiless dreams, Dim idol, moulded of the wild white rose, Coiled like a panther in that silken gloom Of scented cushions, where the rich hushed room Breaks into soft warm gleams, As from her slumbrous clouds Queen Venus glows, Slowly thine arms up-lift to me, thine eyes Meet mine, without communion or surmise.

Here, at thy feet, I watched, I watched all day Night floating in thine eyes, then with my hands Covered my face from that dumb cry of pain: And when at last I dared to look again My heart was far away, Wrapt in the fragrant gloom of Eastern lands, Under the flower-white stars of tropic skies Where soft black floating flowers turned to ... thine eyes.

I breathe, I breathe the perfume of thine hair: Bury in thy deep hair my fevered face, Till as to men athirst in desert dreams The savour and colour and sound of cool dark streams Float round me everywhere, And memories float from some forgotten place, Fulfilling hopeless eyes with hopeless tears And fleeting light of unforgotten years.

Dim clouds of music in the dim rich hours Float to me thro' the twilight of thine hair, And sails like blossoms float o'er purple seas, And under dark green skies the soft warm breeze Washes dark fruit, dark flowers, Dark tropic maidens in some island lair Couched on the warm sand nigh the creaming foam To dream and sing their tawny lovers home.

Lost in the magic ocean of thine hair I find the haven of the heart of song: There tired ships rest against the pale red sky!

And yet again there comes a thin sad cry And all the shining air Fades, where the tall dark singing seamen throng From many generations, many climes, Fades, fades, as it has faded many times.

I hear the sweet cool whisper of the waves!

Drowned in the slumbrous billows of thine hair, I dream as one that sinks thro' pa.s.sionate hours In a strange ship's wild fraughtage of dark flowers Culled for pale poets' graves; And opiate odours load the empurpled air That flows and droops, a dark resplendent pall Under the floating wreaths funereal.

Under the heavy midnight of thine hair An altar flames with spices of the south Burning my flesh and spirit in the flame; Till, looking tow'rds the land from whence I came I find no comfort there, And all the darkness to my thirsty mouth Is fire, but always and in every place Blossoms the secret wonder of thy face.

The walls, the very walls are woven of dreams, All undefined by blasphemies of art!

Here, pure from finite hues the very night Conceives the mystic harmonies of light, Delicious glooms and gleams; And sorrow falls in rose-leaves on the heart, And pain that yearns upon the pa.s.sing hour Is but a perfume haunting a dead flower.

Hark, as a hammer on a coffin falls A knock upon the door! The colours wane, The dreams vanish! And leave that foul white scar, Tattoo'd with dreadful marks, the old calendar Blotching the blistered walls!

The winter whistles thro' a shivered pane, And scatters on the bare boards at my feet These poor soiled ma.n.u.scripts, torn, incomplete...

The scent of opium floats about my breath; But Time resumes his dark and hideous reign; And, with him, hideous memories troop, I know.

Hark, how the battered clock ticks, to and fro,-- _Life, Death--Life, Death--Life, Death_-- O fool to cry! O slave to bow to pain, Coward to live thus tortured with desire By demon nerves in h.e.l.ls of sensual fire.

THE MYSTIC

With wounds out-reddening every moon-washed rose King Love went thro' earth's garden-close!

From that first gate of birth in the golden gloom, I traced Him. Thorns had frayed His garment's hem, Ay, and His flesh! I marked, I followed them Down to that threshold of--the tomb?

And there Love vanished, yet I entered! Night And Doubt mocked at the dwindling light: Strange claw-like hands flung me their shadowy hate.

I clomb the dreadful stairways of desire Between a thousand eyes and wings of fire And knocked upon the second Gate.

The second Gate! When, like a warrior helmed, In battle on battle overwhelmed, My soul lay stabbed by all the swords of sense, Blinded and stunned by stars and flowers and trees, Did I not struggle to my bended knees And wrestle with Omnipotence?

Did earth not flee before me, when the breath Of worship smote her with strange death, Withered her gilded garment, broke her sword, Shattered her graven images and smote All her light sorrows thro' the breast and throat Whose death-cry crowned me G.o.d and Lord?

Yea, G.o.d and Lord! Had tears not purged my sight?

I saw the myriad gates of Light Opening and shutting in each way-side flower, And like a warder in the gleam of each, Death, whispering in some strange eternal speech To every pa.s.sing hour.

The second Gate? Was I not born to pa.s.s A million? Though the skies be bra.s.s And the earth iron, shall I not win thro' all?

Shall I who made the infinite heavens my mark Shrink from this first wild horror of the dark, These formless gulfs, these glooms that crawl?

Never was mine that easy faithless hope Which makes all life one flowery slope To heaven! Mine be the vast a.s.saults of doom, Trumpets, defeats, red anguish, age-long strife, Ten million deaths, ten million gates to life, The insurgent heart that bursts the tomb.

Vain, vain, unutterably vain are all The sights and sounds that sink and fall, The words and symbols of this fleeting breath: Shall I not drown the finite in the Whole, Cast off this body and complete my soul Thro' deaths beyond this gate of death?

It will not open! Through the bars I see The glory and the mystery Wind upward ever! The earth-dawn breaks! I bleed With beating here for entrance. Hark, O hark, Love, Love, return and give me the great Dark, Which is the Light of Life indeed.

THE FLOWER OF OLD j.a.pAN

_DEDICATED TO CAROL, A LITTLE MAIDEN Of MYAKO._

PERSONS OF THE TALE