The bridge of pale bamboo;

The path that seemed a twisted dream

Where everything came true;

The purple cherry-trees; the house

With jutting eaves below the boughs;

The mandarins in blue,

With tiny, tapping, tilted toes,

And curious curved mustachios?

[Pg 18]

The road to Old Japan! you cry,

And is it far or near?

Some never find it till they die;

Some find it everywhere;

The road where restful Time forgets

His weary thoughts and wild regrets

And calls the golden year

Back in a fairy dream to smile

On young and old a little while.

Some seek it with a blazing sword,

And some with old blue plates;

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