Nirvana Days. Rice Cale Young

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Nirvana Days - Rice Cale Young


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palaces beside me pass,

      Like visions in a beryl-glass

      Of what shall never be, alas,

      Or what has been too soon.

      Like what shall never be, but in

      The breathing of a swoon.

      My gondola is a black sea-swan,

      And makes her mystic way

      From door to phantom water-door,

      While carven balconies hang o'er

      And casements framed for love say more

      Than love can ever say.

      Say more than any voice but voice

      Of silent magic may.

      My gondola is a black sea-swan —

      Rialto lies behind.

      And by me the Salute swings,

      A loveliness that must take wings

      And vanish, as imaginings

      Within an Afrit's mind;

      As vague and vast imaginings

      That can no substance find.

      My gondola is a black sea-swan:

      San Marco and the shaft

      Of the slim Campanile steal

      Into my trance and leave a seal

      Upon my senses, like the feel

      Of long enchantment quaffed:

      Of long enchantments such as songs

      Of sage Al Raschid waft.

      My gondola is a black sea-swan

      And gains to the lagoon,

      Where samphire and sea-lavender

      Around me float or softly stir,

      While far-off Venice still lifts her

      Fair witchery to the moon

      And all that wonder e'er gave birth

      Seems out of beauty hewn.

      O-SHICHI AND MOTO

I

      O-Shichi, all my heart today

      Is dreaming of your fate;

      And of your little house that stood

      Beside the temple gate;

      Of its plum-garden hid away

      Behind white paper doors;

      And of the young boy-priest who read too late with you love-lores.

II

      O-Shichi dwelt in Yedo – where

      A thousand wonders dwell.

      Gods, golden palaces and shrines

      That like a charm enspell.

      O-Shichi dwelt among them there,

      More wondrous, she, than all —

      A flower some forgetful god had from his hand let fall.

III

      And all her days were as the dream

      On flowers in the sun.

      And all her ways were as the waves

      That by Shin-bashi run.

      And in her gaze there was the gleam

      Of stars that cannot wait

      Too long for love and so fare forth from heaven to find a mate.

IV

      O-Shichi dwelt so, till one night

      When all the city slept,

      When not a paper lantern swung,

      When only fire-flies swept

      Soft cipherings of spirit-light

      Across the temple's gloom —

      Sudden a cry was heard – the cry that should O-Shichi doom.

V

      For following the cry came flame,

      A Chaya's roof a-blaze.

      And quickly was the street a stream

      Of stricken folk, whose gaze

      Knew well that when the morning came

      Their homes would be but smoke

      Vanished upon the winds: now had O-Shichi's fate awoke.

VI

      And waited. For at morning priests

      In pity of her years

      And desolation led her back

      Behind the great god's spheres;

      The great god Buddha, who of beasts

      And men all mindful was.

      O Buddha, in thy very courts O-Shichi learned love's laws!

VII

      Love of the body and the soul,

      Not of Nirvana's state!

      Love that beyond itself can see

      No beauty wise or great.

      O-Shichi for a moon – a whole

      Moon happy there beheld

      The young boy-priest whose yearning e'er into his eyes upwelled.

VIII

      So all too soon for her was found

      Elsewhere a kindly thatch.

      And all too soon O-Shichi heard

      Behind her close love's latch.

      They led her from the temple's ground

      Into untrysting days.

      And all too soon that happy moon was hid in sorrow's haze.

IX

      For now at dawn she rose to dress

      With blooms some honored vase,

      Or to embroider or brew tea's

      Sweet ceremonial grace.

      Or she at dusk, in sick distress,

      Before the butsudan,

      Must to ancestral tablets pray – not to her Moto-San!

X

      Not unto him, her love, who sways

      Her breast, as moon the tide,

      Whose breath is incense – Ah, again

      To see him softly glide

      Before the grave god-idol's gaze

      Of inward ecstasy,

      To watch the great bell boom for him its mystic sutra-plea.

XI

      But weeks grew into weariness,

      And weariness to pain,

      And pain to lonely wildness, which

      Set fire unto her brain.

      And, "I will see my love!" distress

      Made fair O-Shichi cry,

      "Tho for ten lives away from him I then must live and die."

XII

      Yet – no! She dared not go to him,

      To her he could not come.

      Then, sudden a thought her being swept

      And struck her loud heart dumb.

      Till in her rose confusion dim,

      Fear fighting with Desire —

      Which to O-Shichi took the shape of Fudo, god of fire.

XIII

      And Fudo won her:


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