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—

[Pg 11]

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

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