Next year, Kliste dead now ’bout 630 year.
Salvation Army come from Persia, and China hear
’Bout Kliste, too late; god Budda worshipped now
By much China people.
Year before Salvation Army from Persia
Great man come again: Yuan Chang.
He go to India to get books
’Bout god Budda, and see holy place.
You no hear ’bout Yuan Chang? No?
Greek men, great men, and Cheeser,
Napoleon great men and popes, and Roosevelt—
All light! Yuan Chang great man too.
Like Fa Hsien he go trou Gobi desert,
Fight robbers, dragons, no water, no food;
See much broken cities;
Go from Samarkand to Nepal;
Gone fourteen years;
Come back to Singor,
Tai-tsung emperor now,
And vely glad to see Yuan Chang,
Who bring tousands of books by god Budda,
Gold, silver, crystal images of god Budda,
And bones of god Budda, hair, nails, leaves of Bo tree,
All like that. Where is Kliste now? I don’t know.
China hear not much....
Tai-tsung great emperor! Know much too!
Know about Allah, know about Budda,
Know about Kliste, and Salvation Army.
But Tai-tsung no give a damn,
Only say to Yuan Chang:
Write Budda books in China language.
And write Lao Tzu in Indian language.
Trade gods that way! We no lose.
Maybe India see more in Lao Tzu
Than China, who knows? All time
Kliste dead more’n six hundred year,
And no body say much bout Kliste,
And China goin’ to hell, as Salvation Army say,
Alle time.
Kliste dead six hundred year,
Salvation Army come to England,
And baptize everybody; but China no hear.
Kliste dead eighteen hundred year,
England come to China for Kliste and opium—
Make nice dreams—what you care
’Bout Budda, Kliste—Smoke? Eh?
ULYSSES
Settled to evenings before the doorway
With Telemachus, who sat at his knee,
“Why did you stay so long from Ithaca,
Leaving my mother Penelope?”
The eyes of the hero rolled and wandered,
Thinking of Scylla and Sicily.
“That’s a hard question,” answered Ulysses,
“Harder, if answered, for you to see.
“There was the Cyclops, there was Æolus,
There were the Sirens, and Hades for me;
Apollo’s oxen, Hades’ horrors,
Circe, and then Ogygia.
“All these after the war, Telemachus—
Too long a tale, as you will agree.
The bards must write it, when you are older
Read till the gray hairs give you the key