But then I remember That Beauty's not always a star, Not always remote, not always in lofty places, Chrysanthemum-clad and lily-sheathed; But often lies in the hedges And peeps from street-corners And lurks shyly behind broken doorways. And I think upon the kind and considerate beauty Of the maid with the golden curls, And her patched, uncoloured robes of common cloth. And with a change of mood I charge the elegant ladies Three times the value of the articles chosen, And thus tear from their flowery bodies Pieces of their billowing silk To deck the less fervid beauty of my friend. Night and Day The waters of the river flow swiftly at Limehouse Hole, Past wharves, and ugly gardens, Past beautiful steel ships and tawny sails, Past clamorous factories and broken boats and bells. Throughout the day these things are one-- One body of dire endeavour. But when the evening introduces the night, This thing is broken into a thousand delicacies, And the warm notes of night Make happy discord of the day's harsh harmonies. Of a Night in War-Time Upon a night I sat behind my shop, In happy talk with casual company: The upright Ho Ling, the grave Cheng Huan, And the round-bodied and amiable Sway Too, of my own country; Together with the maid of the golden curls, A sad-eyed seaman from Malay, And two pale Englishmen, Bill Hawkins and Jack Brown. We sat beneath the lantern, and drank our tchah in fellowship, And spoke of this and of that. And the moon rose and mated with the soft smells of my store, And brought forth a spirit that spoke to us Of things forgotten or lost, or long despaired of. Friendship bound us together, and we sat late, Glad of the night, and each glad of his companions; While men in another land Wrought horrors upon their fellows beneath this moon, Drunk with the wicked words of the wicked lords of men. A Love Lesson Last night I dreamed of the maid with yellow curls. She came to me in the room above my shop, And we two were alone, freed from the laws of day. I held her then to myself. I took from her her clothing, garment by garment, And watched them fall about her feet, White petals of a flower. And I drew from her to myself her thoughts, one by one, As often I had wished, till all of her was mine. Then I was sad, for nothing was left to love. And I quickly clothed her again, garment by garment, And gave her back her thoughts, one by one, And awoke in joy. I was glad that the dream was a dream, And that all of her was not mine; For I had learned That love released from bond, and unburdened of its fetters, Is love no longer. A Rebuke