Across my spirit thrills no theme That is not marvel-bright; I see within the lotus gleam The nectar of delight, And, tasting it, I drift and dream Adown the glamoured night! CLINTON SCOLLARD EVENING IN OLD JAPAN Peaceful and mellow looks the sky to-night As some great Buddha made of ivory, Upon whose brow is set a moonstone white, The shining emblem of its purity. A dim blue haze like incense, rising high, Merges together mountain, tree, and stream; But over all still broods an ivory sky Cloudless as Buddha's face, one gem agleam. ANTOINETTE DE COURSEY PATTERSON REFLECTIONS When I looked into your eyes, I saw a garden With peonies, and tinkling pagodas, And round-arched bridges Over still lakes. A woman sat beside the water In a rain-blue, silken garment. She reached through the water To pluck the crimson peonies Beneath the surface. But as she grasped the stems, They jarred and broke into white-green ripples. And as she drew out her hand, The water drops dripping from it Stained her rain-blue dress like tears. AMY LOWELL IN THE GARDEN Do you remember, Sister, The golden afternoon When we looked upon the lotus And listened to the croon Of the doves that sat together Among the flowers of June? And deep among the valleys A far, sweet sound was heard-- Some fluter in the forest That like a magic bird Sang of the unseen heavens And mystic Way and Word. PAI TA-SHUN THE DESERTED GARDEN I hear no more the swish of silks Along the marble walks; The autumn wind blows sharp and cold Among the flowerless stalks. In place of petals of the peach Fast drifts the yellow leaf; And looking in the lotus-pond I see one face of grief. PAI TA-SHUN A ROMAN GARDEN All night above that garden the rose-flushed moon will sail, Making the darkness deeper where hides the nightingale. Below the Sabine mountain The tossed and slender fountain Will curve, a lily pale; And where the plumed pine soars tallest, 'Tis there, O nightingale, thou callest; Where the loud water leaps the highest. 'Tis there, O nightingale, thou criest; In the dripping luscious dark, Hark, oh, hark! Wonderful, delirious, Soul of joy mysterious. A garden full of fragrances, Of pauses and of cadences, Whence come they all? Of cypresses and ilex-trees, Plumes and dark candles like to these Were long ago Persephone's.