The Lotus-Flower

All the heights of the high shores gleam

Red and gold at the sunset hour:

There comes the spell of a magic dream,

And the Harbour seems a lotus-flower;

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A blue flower tinted at dawn with gold,

A broad flower blazing with light at noon,

A flower forever with charms to hold

His heart, who sees it by sun or moon.

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Its beauty burns like a ceaseless fire,

And tower looks over the top of tower;

For all mute things it would seem, aspire

To catch a glimpse of the lotus-flower.

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Men meet its beauty with furrowed face,

And straight the furrows are smoothed away;

They buy and sell in the market-place,

And languor leadens their blood all day.

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At night they look on the flower, and lo!

The City passes with all its cares:

They dream no more in its azure glow,

Of gold and silver and stocks and shares.

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The Lotus dreams 'neath the dreaming skies,

Its beauty touching with spell divine

The grey old town, till the old town lies

Like one half-drunk with a magic wine.

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Star-loved, it breathes at the midnight hour

A sense of peace from its velvet mouth.

Though flowers be fair -- is there any flower

Like this blue flower of the radiant South?

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Sun-loved and lit by the moon it yields

A challenge-glory or glow serene,

And men bethink them of jewelled shields,

A turquoise lighting a ground of green.

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Fond lovers pacing beside it see

Not death and darkness, but life and light,

And dream no dream of the witchery

The Lotus sheds on the silent night.

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Pale watchers weary of watching stars

That fall, and fall, and forever fall,

Tear-worn and troubled with many scars,

They seek the Lotus and end life's thrall.

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The spirit spelled by the Lotus swoons,

Its beauty summons the artist mood;

And thus, perchance, in a thousand moons

Its spell shall work in our waiting blood.

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Then souls shall shine with an old-time grace,

And sense be wrapped in a golden trance,

And art be crowned in the market-place

With Love and Beauty and fair Romance.

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Roderic Quinn