LITMIR.BIZ

      The illimitable leaping of the sea,

      The mouthing of his madness to the moon,

      The seething of his endless sorcery,

      His prophecy no power can attune,

      Swept over me as, on the sounding prow

      Of a great ship that steered into the stars,

      I stood and felt the awe upon my brow

      Of death and destiny and all that mars.

      The wind that blew from Cassiopeia cast

      Wanly upon my ear a rune that rung;

      The sailor in his eyrie on the mast

      Sang an "All's well," that to the spirit clung

      Like a lost voice from some aërial realm

      Where ships sail on forever to no shore,

      Where Time gives Immortality the helm,

      And fades like a far phantom from life's door.

      "And is all well, O Thou Unweariable

      Launcher of worlds upon bewildered space,"

      Rose in me, "All? or did thy hand grow dull

      Building this world that bears a piteous race?

      O was it launched too soon or launched too late?

      Or can it be a derelict that drifts

      Beyond thy ken toward some reef of Fate

      On which Oblivion's sand forever shifts?"

      The sea grew softer as I questioned – calm

      With mystery that like an answer moved,

      And from infinity there fell a balm,

      The old peace that God is, tho all unproved.

      The old faith that tho gulfs sidereal stun

      The soul, and knowledge drown within their deep,

      There is no world that wanders, no not one

      Of all the millions, that He does not keep.

      Where the fair golden idols

      Sit in darkness and in silence

      While the temple drum beats solemnly and slow;

      Where the tall cryptomerias

      Sway in worship round about

      And the rain that is falling whispers low;

      I can hear strange voices

      Of the dead and forgotten,

      On the dimly rising incense I can see

      The lives I have lived,

      And my lives unbegotten,

      Namu Amida Butsu pity me!

      I was born this karma

      Of a mother in Chuzenji,

      Where Nantai-zan looks down into the lake;

      Where the white-thronged pilgrims

      Climb to altars in the clouds

      And behold the holy eastern dawn awake.

      It was there I wandered

      Till a priest of the Christians

      With the crucifix he wore compelled my gaze.

      In grief I had grown,

      So upon its grief I pondered.

      Namu Amida Butsu, keep my days!

      It was wrong, he told me,

      To pray Jiso for my children,

      And Binzuru for healing of my ills.

      And our gods so many

      Were conceived, he said, in sin,

      From Lord Shaka to the least upon the hills.

      In despair I listened

      For my heart beat hopeless,

      Not a temple of my land had helped me live.

      But alas that day

      When I let my soul be christened!

      Namu Amida Butsu, O forgive!

      For the Christ they gave me

      As the only Law and Lotus,

      As the only way to Light that will not wane,

      May perchance have power

      For the people of the West,

      But to me he seemed the servitor of pain.

      For in pain he perished

      As one born to passion:

      In some other life no doubt his sin was great,

      Tho they told me no,

      Those who followed him and cherished.

      Namu Amida Butsu, such is fate.

      So again to idols

      Of the Buddha who is boundless,

      While the temple drum is beating thro the rain,

      I have turned from treason

      Into Meditation's truth,

      From the strife the Western god regards as gain.

      And if now I'm dying

      As the voices tell me,

      To the lives that I must live I'll meekly go;

      Till my long grief ends

      In Nirvana, and my sighing.

      Namu Amida Butsu, be it so!

      Dragon-fly lighting

      On the temple-bell,

      Whose soul do you hear

      On the Day of the Dead?

      The soul of my lover?

      Ah me, the plighting

      Between two hearts

      That were never wed!

      Dragon-fly, quickly,

      The priest is coming!

      Oh, the boom

      Of the bitter bell!

      Now you are gone

      And my tears fall thickly.

      How of Heaven

      Do the gods make Hell!

      The sêmi is silent

      (Autumn rains!)

      The wind-bells tinkle

      (How chill it is!)

      The quick lights come

      On the shoji-panes.

      Come, O Baku,

      Eater of dreams!

      The maple darkens

      (Pale grow I!)

      The near night shivers

      (The temple fades.)

      Haunting love

      Will not cease to cry!

      Come, O Baku,

      Eater of dreams!

      The wild mists gather

      (Ah, my tears!)

      The

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