“In China, well
Perhaps you’d smell
The cherry bloom: that’s if you ran
A million miles
And jumped the stiles,
And never dreamed of Old Japan.
“What, palanquins,
And mandarins?
And, what d’you say, a blue divan?
And what? Hee! hee!
You’ll never see
A pig-tailed head in Old Japan.
“You’d take away
The ruby, hey?
I never heard of such a plan!
Upon my word
It’s quite absurd
There’s not a gem in Old Japan!
“Oh, dear me, no!
You’d better go
Straight home again, my little man:
Ah, well, you’ll see
But don’t blame me;
I don’t believe in Old Japan.”
Then, before we could obey,
O’er our startled heads he cast,
Spider-like, a webby grey
Net that held us prisoned fast;
How we screamed, he only grinned,
It was such a lonely place;
And he said we should be pinned
In his human beetle-case.
Out he dragged a monstrous box
From a cave behind the tree!
It had four-and-twenty locks,
But he could not find the key,
And his face grew very pale
When a sudden voice began
Drawing nearer through the vale,
Singing songs of Old Japan.
Song
Satin sails in a crimson dawn
Over the silky silver sea;
Purple veils of the dark withdrawn;
Heavens of pearl and porphyry;
Purple and white in the morning light
Over the water the town we knew,
In tiny state, like a willow-plate,
Shone, and behind it the hills were blue.
There, we remembered, the shadows pass
All day long like dreams in the night;
There, in the meadows of dim blue grass,
Crimson daisies are ringed with white;
There the roses flutter their petals,
Over the meadows they take their flight,
There the moth that sleepily settles
Turns to a flower in the warm soft light.
There when the sunset colours the streets
Everyone buys at wonderful stalls
Toys and chocolates, guns and sweets,
Ivory pistols, and Persian shawls:
Everyone’s pockets are crammed with gold;
Nobody’s heart is worn with care,
Nobody ever grows tired and old,
And nobody calls you “Baby” there.