To the memory of the indomitable "Lioness" 
the Baroness Karen Blixen 

The Chinese lanterns are hanging like fiery fruit 
Beyond the gate invisibly engraved: 
"Abandon despair, you who enter here." 
They star the blossomy paths to the pagoda 
That a Chinese emperor gave to a Danish king. 
Here's everything that royalty or childhood could desire. 
It is Hans Christian's world, without his sorrow. 
Until tomorrow, all the toys are alive. The brave tin soldier 
Comes marching along with his full company 
To martial music that Mars never heard of, 
Till the heart beats beats, beats beats like a thaumaturgic 
Drum. The pagoda floats on the lake. 
Ducks and a swan and giant dragonflies that are winged lanterns 
Or mosquito traps float on a lake. 
Another lake is for boating. 
And another music blows in a gay gust 
From another part of the forest: 
Beethoven's Seventh, with a Chinese conducting. 
The forest is rich with witches 
And ghosts, and with Titania's people. 

There are forest pools, of course, and, in the open, fountains 
Where flames or bubbles of silver climb crystal columns. 
Farther, screams of delighted fear 
Shrill, whirling with the 
Ferris-wheel, or bump shatteringly and jump with 
The rollercoaster. 
But there is generous quiet where the crowd attends 
The mountebanks and acrobats, or, better: 
The antics of Harlequin and the clown, applauding when 
The stern father, the ingenue, and her lover 
Give the pantomime a happy ending. 
But the children shriek for the actors to speak, 
If once only, to speak — those master mimes. 
Who roar in answer, roar as the curtains close. 
It is not night that descends, but dawn that rises 
On this pleasure park for children and lovers, 
And for those few ancients fallen in love with joy. 
It is a love affair of the centuries, with always fresh 
Delights in old surprises, with the strangeness of 
The familiar marvels, 
Where all creatures, as in the first Garden, are at home, 
Where everything may enter, save despair.