‘And there is a Japanese idol at Kamakura.’

O ye who tread the Narrow Way 
By Tophet-flare to Judgment Day, 
Be gentle when ‘the heathen’ pray 
    To Buddha at Kamakura!

To Him the Way, the Law, apart, 
Whom Maya held beneath her heart, 
Ananda’s Lord, the Bodhisat, 
    The Buddha of Kamakura.

For though He neither burns nor sees, 
Nor hears ye thank your Deities,
Ye have not sinned with such as these, 
    His children at Kamakura,

Yet spare us still the Western joke 
When joss-sticks turn to scented smoke 
The little sins of little folk 
    That worship at Kamakura—

The grey-robed, gay-sashed butterflies 
That flit beneath the Master’s eyes. 
He is beyond the Mysteries 
    But loves them at Kamakura.

And whoso will, from Pride released, 
Contemning neither creed nor priest, 
May feel the Soul of all the East 
    About him at Kamakura.

Yea, every tale Ananda heard, 
Of birth as fish or beast or bird, 
While yet in lives the Master stirred, 
    The warm wind brings Kamakura.

Till drowsy eyelids seem to see 
A-flower ’neath her golden htee 
The Shwe-Dagon flare easterly 
    From Burma to Kamakura,

And down the loaded air there comes 
The thunder of Thibetan drums, 
And droned—‘Om mane padme hum’s’
    A world’s-width from Kamakura.

Yet Brahmans rule Benares still, 
Buddh-Gaya’s ruins pit the hill, 
And beef-fed zealots threaten ill 
    To Buddha and Kamakura.

A tourist-show, a legend told, 
A rusting bulk of bronze and gold, 
So much, and scarce so much, ye hold 
    The meaning of Kamakura?

But when the morning prayer is prayed, 
Think, ere ye pass to strife and trade, 
Is God in human image made 
    No nearer than Kamakura?

 = Richard Titus