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.
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