Poetry and the Gods

“Moon over Japan,White butterfly moon!Where the heavy-lidded Buddhas dreamTo the sound of the cuckoo’s call.....The white wings of moon-butterfliesFlicker down the streets of the city,Blushing into darkness the useless wicks of round lanterns in the hands of girls.

Moon over the tropics,A white-curved budOpening its petals slowly in the warmth of heaven.....The air is full of odoursAnd languorous warm sounds.....A flute drones its insect music to the nightBelow the curving moon-petal of the heavens.

Moon over China,Weary moon on the river of the sky.The stir of light in the willows is like the flashing of a thousand silver minnowsThrough dark shoals:The tiles on graves and rotting temples flash like ripples,The sky is flecked with clouds like the scales of a dragon.”

“Moon over Japan,White butterfly moon!

Moon over the tropics,A white curved budOpening its petals slowly in the warmth of heaven.The air is full of odoursAnd languorous warm sounds .... languorous warm sounds.

Moon over China,Weary moon on the river of the sky .... weary moon!”

“Write, write, that from the bloody course of war,By dearest master, your dear son, may hie:Bless him at home in peace, whilst I from far,His name with zealous fervour sanctify.”

“Or let my lamp at midnight hourBe seen in some high lovely tower,Where I might oft outwatch the BearWith thrice-great Hermes, or unsphereThe spirit of Plato, to unfoldWhat worlds or what vast regions holdTh’ immortal mind, that hath forsookHer mansion in this fleshy nook.

Sometimes let gorgeous TragedyIn sceptred pall come sweeping by,Presenting Thebes, or Pelops’ line,Or the tale of Troy divine.”

“Heard melodies are sweet, but those unheardAre sweeter: therefore, ye soft pipes, play on ....

When old age shall this generation waste,Thou shalt remain, in midst of other woeThan ours, a friend to man, to whom thou say’st,‘Beauty is truth, truth beauty’—that is allYe know on earth, and all ye need to know.”