Lowly temple and torii,
Shrine of the dead, I hang my prayer
Here on your gates—the story see
And answer out of the earth and air.
For I am Nature's child, and you
Were by the children of Nature built.
Ages have on you smiled—and dew
On you for ages has been spilt—
Till you are beautiful as Time
Mossy and mellowing ever makes:
Wrapped as you are in lull—or rhyme
Of sounding drum that sudden breaks.
This is my prayer then, this, that I
Too may reverence all of life,
Beauty, and power and miss no high
Awe of a world with wonder rife.
That I may build in spirit fair
Temples and torii on each place
That I have loved—O hear it, Air,
Ocean and Earth, and grant your grace!
[EVOCATION]
(Nikko, Japan, 1905)
Weird thro' the mist and cryptomeria
Booms the temple bell,
Down from the tomb of Iëyasu
Yearning, as a knell.