Noonday brooded on the wood, Evening caught us ere we crept Where a twisted pear-tree stood, And a dwarf behind it slept; Round his scraggy throat he wore, Knotted tight, a scarlet scarf; Timidly we watched him snore, For he seemed a surly dwarf. Yet, he looked so very small, He could hardly hurt us much; We were nearly twice as tall, So we woke him with a touch Gently, and in tones polite, Asked him to direct our path; O! his wrinkled eyes grew bright Green with ugly gnomish wrath. He seemed to choke, And gruffly spoke, “You’re lost: deny it, if you can! You want to know The way to go? There’s no such place as Old Japan. “You want to seek-- No, no, don’t speak! You mean you want to steal a fan. You want to see The fields of tea? They don’t grow tea in Old Japan. “In China, well Perhaps you’d smell The cherry bloom: that’s if you ran A million miles And jumped the stiles, And never dreamed of Old Japan. “What, palanquins, And mandarins? And, what d’you say, a blue divan? And what? Hee! hee! You’ll never see A pig-tailed head in Old Japan. “You’d take away The ruby, hey? I never heard of such a plan! Upon my word It’s quite absurd There’s not a gem in Old Japan! “Oh, dear me, no! You’d better go Straight home again, my little man: Ah, well, you’ll see But don’t blame me; I don’t believe in Old Japan.” Then, before we could obey, O’er our startled heads he cast, Spider-like, a webby grey Net that held us prisoned fast; How we screamed, he only grinned, It was such a lonely place; And he said we should be pinned In his human beetle-case. Out he dragged a monstrous box From a cave behind the tree! It had four-and-twenty locks, But he could not find the key, And his face grew very pale When a sudden voice began Drawing nearer through the vale, Singing songs of Old Japan. SONG _Satin sails in a crimson dawn_ _Over the silky silver sea;_ _Purple veils of the dark withdrawn;_ _Heavens of pearl and porphyry;_ _Purple and white in the morning light_ _Over the water the town we knew,_ _In tiny state, like a willow-plate,_ _Shone, and behind it the hills were blue._ _There, we remembered, the shadows pass_ _All day long like dreams in the night;_ _There, in the meadows of dim blue grass,_ _Crimson daisies are ringed with white;_ _There the roses flutter their petals,_ _Over the meadows they take their flight,_ _There the moth that sleepily settles_ _Turns to a flower in the warm soft light._