Many Gods — Background and Themes

Dragon-fly, quickly, The priest is coming! Oh, the boom Of the bitter bell! Now you are gone And my tears fall thickly. How of Heaven Do the gods make Hell!

The sêmi is silent (Autumn rains!) The wind-bells tinkle (How chill it is!) The quick lights come On the shoji-panes. Come, O Baku, Eater of dreams!

The maple darkens (Pale grow I!) The near night shivers (The temple fades.)

Haunting love Will not cease to cry! Come, O Baku, Eater of dreams!

The wild mists gather (Ah, my tears!) The pane-lights vanish (For some there is rest.) But for me-- The remembered years! Come, O Baku, Eater of dreams!

MAPLE LEAVES ON MIYAJIMA

The summer has come, The summer has gone, And the maple leaves lift fairy hands That ripple upon the winds of dawn Where the dim pagoda stands. They ripple and beckon yearningly To their sister fairies over the sea, But help comes not, So they fall and flee From Autumn over the sands.

And down the mountain And into the tide, Some are blown where the sampans glide, And some are strewn by the temple's side, And some by the torii. But Autumn ever Pursues them till, As ever before, She has her will, And leaves them desolate, dead and still, Ravished afar and wide; Leaves them desolate; crying shrill, "No beauty shall abide!"

I was weary and slept on the Peak; The air clung close like a shroud, And ever the blue-fly's buzz in my ear Hung haunting and hot and loud; I awoke and the sky was dun With awe and a dread that soon Went shuddering thro my heart, for I knew That it meant typhoon! typhoon!

In the harbour below, far down, The junks like fowl in a flock Were tossing in wingless terror, or fled Fluttering in from the shock. The city, a breathless bend Of roofs, by the water strewn, Lay silent and waiting, yet there was none Within it but said typhoon!

Then it came, like a million winds Gone mad immeasurably, A torrid and tortuous tempest stung By rape of the fair South Sea. And it swept like a scud escaped From craters of sun or moon, And struck as no power of Heaven could, Or of Hell--typhoon! typhoon!

And the junks were smitten and torn, The drowning struggled and cried, Or, dashed on the granite walls of the sea, In succourless hundreds died. Till I shut the sight from my eyes And prayed for my soul to swoon: If ever I see God's face, let it Be guiltless of that typhoon!

I want to go back to Singapore And ship along the Straits, To a bungalow I know beside Penang; Where cocoanut palms along the shore Are waving, and the gates Of Peace shut Sorrow out forevermore. I want to go back and hear the surf Come beating in at night, Like the washing of eternity over the dead. I want to see dawn fare up and day Go down in golden light; I want to go back to Penang! I want to go back!

I want to go back to Singapore And up along the Straits To the bungalow that waits me by the tide. Where the Tamil and Malay tell their lore At evening--and the fates Have set no soothless canker at life's core. I want to go back and mend my heart Beneath the tropic moon, While the tamarind-tree is whispering thoughts of sleep. I want to believe that Earth again With Heaven is in tune. I want to go back to Penang! I want to go back!

I want to go back to Singapore And ship along the Straits To the bungalow I left upon the strand. Where the foam of the world grows faint before It enters, and abates In meaning as I hear the palm-wind pour. I want to go back and end my days Some evening when the Cross On the southern sky hangs heavily far and sad. I want to remember when I die That life elsewhere was loss. I want to go back to Penang! I want to go back!

When the wind is low, and the sea is soft, And the far heat-lightning plays On the rim of the West where dark clouds nest On a darker bank of haze; When I lean o'er the rail with you that I love And gaze to my heart's content; I know that the heavens are there above-- But you are my firmament.