The Song Book of Quong Lee of Limehouse [5]
noble suey sen, and flavors it With the dried bud of the noble chrysanthemum.
Consider these verses, little friend, As cups of suey sen Flavoured with the buds of the flower of all flowers.
Of Inaccessible Beauty
Ladies in elegant silks and laces Have come at times to my insignificant shop, For pieces of jade, or banners, or curious cuttings of ivory. And I look with insufferable emotion Upon their roseleaf skin, And breathe the soft scents that flow from their garments, And long to soothe their lily-fingered hands. In their presence I am seized with longings unutterable, And am filled with a sickness of my present unkind estate.
But then I remember That Beauty's not always a star, Not always remote, not always in lofty places, Chrysanthemum-clad and lily-sheathed; But often lies in the hedges And peeps from street-corners And lurks shyly behind broken doorways.
And I think upon the kind and considerate beauty Of the maid with the golden curls, And her patched, uncoloured robes of common cloth. And with a change of mood I charge the elegant ladies Three times the value of the articles chosen, And thus tear from their flowery bodies Pieces of their billowing silk To deck the less fervid beauty of my friend.
Night and Day
The waters of the river flow swiftly at Limehouse Hole, Past wharves, and ugly gardens, Past beautiful steel ships and tawny sails, Past clamorous factories and broken boats and bells.
Throughout the day these things are one-- One body of dire endeavour. But when the evening introduces the night, This thing is broken into a thousand delicacies, And the warm notes of night Make happy discord of the day's harsh harmonies.
Of a Night in War-Time
Upon a night I sat behind my shop, In happy talk with casual company: The upright Ho Ling, the grave Cheng Huan, And the round-bodied and amiable Sway Too, of my own country; Together with the maid of the golden curls, A sad-eyed seaman from Malay, And two pale Englishmen, Bill Hawkins and Jack Brown.
We sat beneath the lantern, and drank our tchah in fellowship, And spoke of this and of that. And the moon rose and mated with the soft smells of my store, And brought forth a spirit that spoke to us Of things forgotten or lost, or long despaired of.
Friendship bound us together, and we sat late, Glad of the night, and each glad of his companions; While men in another land Wrought horrors upon their fellows beneath this moon, Drunk with the wicked words of the wicked lords of men.
A Love Lesson
Last night I dreamed of the maid with yellow curls. She came to me in the room above my shop, And we two were alone, freed from the laws of day. I held her then to myserlf. I took from her her clothing, garment by garment, And watched them fall about her feet, White petals of a flower. And I drew from her to myself her thoughts, one by one, As often I had wished, till all of her was mine.
Then I was sad, for nothing was left to love. And I quickly clothed her again, garment by garment, And gave her back her thoughts, one by one, And awoke in joy. I was glad that the dream was a dream, And that all of her was not mine; For I had learned That love released from bond, and unburdened of its fetters, Is love no longer.
A Rebuke
Excuse me, Mister, if I enter a gentle protest About the manner in which you comport yourself When taking the air about the streets. For, looking at you, one would form the opinion That you were a man of much worth and nobility, That you were high in officialdom, A councillor of the king or a learned judge, Or one whose piety and wisdom Had marked him out to sit above his fellow.
One would think thus to see the swinging arms, The slow protuberant belly sheathed in a vest of scarlet, And the gold chain of Albert, the great Consort; To see the haughty head, the portly mien, The solemn gait, and the complacency with which you view the world.
Don't interrupt! I only wished to tell you That your claim to the excessive esteem of your neighbours Is wholly without foundation. Do please remember,
Consider these verses, little friend, As cups of suey sen Flavoured with the buds of the flower of all flowers.
Of Inaccessible Beauty
Ladies in elegant silks and laces Have come at times to my insignificant shop, For pieces of jade, or banners, or curious cuttings of ivory. And I look with insufferable emotion Upon their roseleaf skin, And breathe the soft scents that flow from their garments, And long to soothe their lily-fingered hands. In their presence I am seized with longings unutterable, And am filled with a sickness of my present unkind estate.
But then I remember That Beauty's not always a star, Not always remote, not always in lofty places, Chrysanthemum-clad and lily-sheathed; But often lies in the hedges And peeps from street-corners And lurks shyly behind broken doorways.
And I think upon the kind and considerate beauty Of the maid with the golden curls, And her patched, uncoloured robes of common cloth. And with a change of mood I charge the elegant ladies Three times the value of the articles chosen, And thus tear from their flowery bodies Pieces of their billowing silk To deck the less fervid beauty of my friend.
Night and Day
The waters of the river flow swiftly at Limehouse Hole, Past wharves, and ugly gardens, Past beautiful steel ships and tawny sails, Past clamorous factories and broken boats and bells.
Throughout the day these things are one-- One body of dire endeavour. But when the evening introduces the night, This thing is broken into a thousand delicacies, And the warm notes of night Make happy discord of the day's harsh harmonies.
Of a Night in War-Time
Upon a night I sat behind my shop, In happy talk with casual company: The upright Ho Ling, the grave Cheng Huan, And the round-bodied and amiable Sway Too, of my own country; Together with the maid of the golden curls, A sad-eyed seaman from Malay, And two pale Englishmen, Bill Hawkins and Jack Brown.
We sat beneath the lantern, and drank our tchah in fellowship, And spoke of this and of that. And the moon rose and mated with the soft smells of my store, And brought forth a spirit that spoke to us Of things forgotten or lost, or long despaired of.
Friendship bound us together, and we sat late, Glad of the night, and each glad of his companions; While men in another land Wrought horrors upon their fellows beneath this moon, Drunk with the wicked words of the wicked lords of men.
A Love Lesson
Last night I dreamed of the maid with yellow curls. She came to me in the room above my shop, And we two were alone, freed from the laws of day. I held her then to myserlf. I took from her her clothing, garment by garment, And watched them fall about her feet, White petals of a flower. And I drew from her to myself her thoughts, one by one, As often I had wished, till all of her was mine.
Then I was sad, for nothing was left to love. And I quickly clothed her again, garment by garment, And gave her back her thoughts, one by one, And awoke in joy. I was glad that the dream was a dream, And that all of her was not mine; For I had learned That love released from bond, and unburdened of its fetters, Is love no longer.
A Rebuke
Excuse me, Mister, if I enter a gentle protest About the manner in which you comport yourself When taking the air about the streets. For, looking at you, one would form the opinion That you were a man of much worth and nobility, That you were high in officialdom, A councillor of the king or a learned judge, Or one whose piety and wisdom Had marked him out to sit above his fellow.
One would think thus to see the swinging arms, The slow protuberant belly sheathed in a vest of scarlet, And the gold chain of Albert, the great Consort; To see the haughty head, the portly mien, The solemn gait, and the complacency with which you view the world.
Don't interrupt! I only wished to tell you That your claim to the excessive esteem of your neighbours Is wholly without foundation. Do please remember,