II

Or were I in Japan today — Perchance at Kyoto — Down Tera-machi I would search For charm or curio.

Up narrow stairs in sandals pure Of soil or dust I'd go Into a room of magic shapes — Gods, dragons, dread Nio.

And seated on the silent mats, With many a treasure near — Of ivory the gods have dreamt, And satsuma as dear,

Of bronzes whose mysterious mint Seems not of now or here — I'd buy and dream and dream and buy, Lost far in Mâyâ's sphere.

Then gathering up my gains at last, Mid “sayonaras” soft And bows and gentle courtesies Repeated oft and oft,

My host and I should part — “O please The skies much weal to waft His years,” I'd think, then cross San-jo To fair Chion-in aloft.

For set aloft and set apart, Beyond the city's din, Under the shade of ancient heights Lies templed calm Chion-in.

And there the great bell's booming fills Its gates all day, and thin Low beating on mokugyo, by Priests passioning for sin.

And there the sun upon its courts And carvings, gods and graves, Rests as no light of earth-lands known, Like to Nirvana laves

And washes with sweet under-flow Into the soul's far caves. And no more shall this life seem real To one who feels its waves.

“No more!” I'd say, then wander on To Kiyomizu-shrine, Which is so old antiquity's Far self cannot divine

Its birth, but knows that Kwannon, she Of mercy's might benign, Has reached her thousand hands always From it to Nippon's line.

And She should hear my many prayers, And have my freest gifts. And many days beside her should I watch the crystal rifts

Of Otawa's clear waters earn Their way, o'er rocks and drifts, Beside the trestled temple down — Like murmurs of sweet shrifts.

Then, when the city wearied me, To Katsura I'd wend — A garden hid across green miles Of rice-lands quaintly penned.

And, by the stork-bestridden lake, I'd walk or musing mend My soul with lotus-memories And hopes — without an end.