Thoughts On Leaving Japan

A changing medley of insistent sounds,     Like broken airs, played on a Samisen,     Pursues me, as the waves blot out the shore.     The trot of wooden heels; the warning cry     Of patient runners; laughter and strange words     Of children, children, children everywhere:     The clap of reverent hands, before some shrine;     And over all the haunting temple bells,     Waking, in silent chambers of the soul,     Dim memories of long-forgotten lives.     But oh! the sorrow of the undertone;     The wail of hopeless weeping in the dawn     From lips that smiled through gilded bars at night.     Brave little people, of large aims, you bow     Too often, and too low before the Past;     You sit too long in worship of the dead.     Yet have you risen, open eyed, to greet     The great material Present.    Now salute     The greater Future, blazing its bold trail     Through old traditions.    Leave your dead to sleep     In quiet peace with God.    Let your concern     Be with the living, and the yet unborn;     Bestow on them your thoughts, and waste no time     In costly honours to insensate dust.     Unlock the doors of usefulness, and lead     Your lovely daughters forth to larger fields,     Away from jungles of the ancient sin.     For oh! the sorrow of that undertone,     The wail of hopeless weeping in the dawn     From lips that smiled through gilded bars at night.