Читать книгу Collected Poems: Volume One - Alfred Noyes - Страница 24

With rosy finger-tips the Dawn

Drew back the silver veils,

Till lilac shimmered into lawn

Above the satin sails; And o'er the waters, white and wan,

In tiny patterned state,

We saw the streets of Old Japan

Shine, like a willow plate.

O, many a milk-white pigeon roams

The purple cherry crops,

The mottled miles of pearly domes,

And blue pagoda tops,

The river with its golden canes

And dark piratic dhows,

To where beyond the twisting vanes

The burning mountain glows.

A snow-peak in the silver skies

Beyond that magic world,

We saw the great volcano rise

With incense o'er it curled,

Whose tiny thread of rose and blue

Has risen since time began,

Before the first enchanter knew

The peak of Old Japan.

Nobody watched us quietly steer

The pinnace to the painted pier,

Except one pig-tailed mandarin,

Who sat upon a chest of tea

Pretending not to hear or see! …

His hands were very long and thin,

His face was very broad and white;

And O, it was a fearful sight

To see him sit alone and grin!

His grin was very sleek and sly:

Timidly we passed him by.

He did not seem at all to care:

So, thinking we were safely past,

We ventured to look back at last.

O, dreadful blank!—He was not there! He must have hid behind his chest: We did not stay to see the rest.

But, as in reckless haste we ran,

We came upon the tall thin man,

Who called to us and waved his fan,

And offered us his palanquin:

He said we must not go alone

To seek the ruby wishing-stone,

Because the white-faced mandarin

Would dog our steps for many a mile,

And sit upon each purple stile

Before we came to it, and smile

And smile; his name was Creeping Sin.

He played with children's beating hearts,

And stuck them full of poisoned darts

And long green thorns that stabbed and stung:

He'd watch until we tried to speak,

Then thrust inside his pasty cheek

His long, white, slimy tongue:

And smile at everything we said;

And sometimes pat us on the head,

And say that we were very young:

He was a cousin of the man

Who said that there was no Japan.

And night and day this Creeping Sin

Would follow the path of the palanquin;

Yet if we still were fain to touch

The ruby, we must have no fear,

Whatever we might see or hear,

And the tall thin man would take us there;

He did not fear that Sly One much,

Except perhaps on a moonless night,

Nor even then if the stars were bright.

So, in the yellow palankeen

We swung along in state between

Twinkling domes of gold and green

Through the rich bazaar, Where the cross-legged merchants sat,

Old and almond-eyed and fat,

Each upon a gorgeous mat,

Each in a cymar;

Each in crimson samite breeches,

Watching his barbaric riches.

Cherry blossom breathing sweet

Whispered o'er the dim blue street

Where with fierce uncertain feet

Tawny pirates walk:

All in belts and baggy blouses,

Out of dreadful opium houses,

Out of dens where Death carouses,

Horribly they stalk;

Girt with ataghan and dagger,

Right across the road they swagger.

And where the cherry orchards blow,

We saw the maids of Miyako,

Swaying softly to and fro

Through the dimness of the dance:

Like sweet thoughts that shine through dreams

They glided, wreathing rosy gleams,

With stately sounds of silken streams,

And many a slim kohl-lidded glance;

Then fluttered with tiny rose-bud feet

To a soft frou-frou and a rhythmic beat As the music shimmered, pursuit, retreat, "Hands across, retire, advance!" And again it changed and the glimmering throng Faded into a distant song.