Then knights in blue and gold array

Would on their thumbs bestow

A pinch from every heap and say,

With many a hum and ho,

[Pg 10]

What blossoms, nodding to and fro

For joy of maid or man,

Conceived the scents that puzzled so

The brains of old Japan.

The hundred ghosts have ceased to affray

The dust of Kyotó,

Ah yet, what phantom blooms a-sway

Murmur, a-loft, a-low,

In dells no scythe of death can mow,

No power of reason scan,

O, what Samúrai singers know

The Flower of old Japan?

Dry dust of blossoms, dim and gray,

Lost on the wind? Ah, no,

Hark, from yon clump of English may,

 Prev. P 22/770 next