Eastern
Enigma, under Western skies,
Lift for a moment thy mysterious
eyes,
Full of great Asia’s shadowy
repose,
And hoary culture—older than
mortal knows.
Why art thou here, where telegraphs
and steam
Make life to thee like some weird
opium dream?
Dost thou not miss, O passionless
Tien Sin,
The gray old quiet of thy loved
Pekin?
Thy porcelain pagodas, and gardens
trim?
Thy pointed roofs, and ponds where
gold-fish swim?
Dost thou not miss thy favorite
willow-trees,
And sandal-wood, and camphor-scented
breeze?
"Barbarians" as we are,
yet it must start
Some faint astonishment in thy slow
heart
To view our silks, that with thine
own compare,
Our fairy miracles of china-ware.
Come, find thy place, and join our
onward strife—
Thou must be glad to touch our
quick, keen life,
Our myriad-sided life, fresh every
day—
Wake up! Thous canst not dream upon
Broadway!
He bowed serenely—this is just the
case—
And like a smiling tea-pot was his
face:
"Me like-ee much-ee, plenty
lady wash-ee;
Me chalg-ee lady always leady cash-ee."
Then I desired to scold. I longed to
say,
"If this is all your thought
upon Broadway,
‘Twere just as well in China yet
to be,
Kowtowing to Mandarins—and
drinking tea!"