Classic Poem

1

Before me, couched upon her plain,
Girdled by hills, Kioto lies
O sacred spot! Each pilgrim's eyes
Are raised to Heaven, then fall again.

Like Zion to the Hebrew seers,
Mecca to the Arab sick and faint,
Like Rome unto the Christian saint,
Kioto to these souls appears.

Holy the thousand silver rills
Which down her mountains slide and gleam;
Holy the Kamo-gawa's stream;
Holy these temple-covered hills.

This is the heart of old Japan;
Here lives the genius of the land;
Before her gates tow giants stand —
Atago-yama, Hiyei-zan.

2

The heart of Nippon — aye, it is.
Here dwelt her rulers; here the men
Who gave her fame with brush and pen.
What other spot compares with this?

Here — fairest city of the East —
Rose, in the gold-and-purple past,
The temples beautiful and vast,
Where chants the satin-cassocked priest.

Here still the pilgrim comes to pray,
For nearer Heaven these hill-tops seem;
And, by the Kamo-gawa's stream,
Here still the poet sings his lay.

Here works the potter at his art,
Here bends the sword-smith o'er the sword;
Here, on grotesque or tragic board,
The player plays his mimic part.

3

Ginkakuji, in this chamber old,
Where now, from tiny cup, each drinks
Uji's delicious leaf, methinks
Sat once the Ashikaga bold:

And with him — O immortal three! —
His comrades tried of many a bout
Bacchanal, and voluptuous rout,
Monk Shuko, and gay So-Ami.

Like alchemists who mix with care
An elixir, each upon his mat,
In postures Nipponese, they sat,
And poured, with rites, this beverage rare.

Let's drink then to the immortal three,
Tea-lovers in the days of old;
To Yoshimasa, shogun bold,
Monk Shuko, and gay So-Ami!

4

Turn now, my lingering feet, to where,
By its still lake, Kinkakuji stands:
What sybarite brain conceived, what hands
Skillful upreared this structure rare?

Five hundred years a change have wrought
Since Yoshimitsu, styled The Great,
Renounced the shogun's proud estate,
And in this spot retirement sought;

And (though in garb a warrior bold
No more, but monk with head shaved bare)
Built for himself a palace fair,
Fronting a summer-house of gold.

Gone is that palace; and thy walls
Time, O Kinkakuji, has not spared:
But almost is their sheen repaired
When here the light of sunset falls!

5

Kioto, let my pilgrim pen
Proclaim the beauty of thy hills,
And, by the music of thy rills
Inspired, charm occidental men.

What spot on earth can vie with thee
When morning floods thy fertile plain,
And kneels, at Gion's hill-side fane,
The simple-hearted devotee?

Or when, beneath thy sky of blue,
At noonday's golden hour I rove,
And, mounting past yon bamboo-grove,
From Kiyomidzu thee I view?

Or when, from Maruyama's heights,
I watch the moon's enchanting gleam,
While far below, on Kamo's stream,
Glitter a million festive lights?

6

O mountain-girdled queen, my heart
Turns to thee like a child of thine,
And as my fingers pen this line
I dream that we may never part;

But that I may, when cherry-flowers
Bedeck Arashiyama's side,
Upon the stream's gay surface glide
For many an April's happy hours;

Or that, with geishas young and fair,
I may, by Biwa's azure lake,
In oriental fashion take
My ease for many a summer rare;

Or, when the proud chrysanthemum
Blooms in Shugakuin's garden old,
That I its beauty may behold,
For many an autumn day to come!

7

Her samisen the maiden plays,
Or dances in the tea-house cool,
Or bathes within the crystal pool,
Half-hidden, only, from my gaze.

The freer life my spirit charms,
The shackles of the West fall off,
My helmet to the East I doff,
And follow fast her beckoning arms.

Aye, why from Eden should I fly,
And face once more the troubled world?
My anchor's down, my sails are furled,
Methinks here could I live and die:

Where loving skies upon me gaze,
And zephyrs soft my senses greet,
And where, in many a valley sweet,
Still dwells the Peace of ancient days.