  Where in the far-off eastern land The cock first crows at dawn, The people still hand down a tale Of days long dead and gone. They tell of Katsushika's maid, Whose sash of country blue Bound but a frock of home-spun hemp, And kirtle coarse to view; Whose feet no shoe had e'er confined, Nor comb passed through her hair; Yet all the queens in damask robes Might nevermore compare. With this dear child, who smiling stood, A flow'ret of the spring— In beauty perfect and complete, Like to the moon's full ring. And, as the summer moths that fly Towards the flame so bright, Or as the boats that deck the port When fall the shades of night, So came the suitors; but she said:— "Why take me for your wife? Full well I know my humble lot, I know how short my life." So where the dashing billows beat On the loud-sounding shore, Hath Katsushika's tender maid Her home for evermore. Yes! 'tis a tale of days long past; But, listening to the lay, It seems as I had gazed upon Her face but yesterday. Anon. |
|
