DEEP the waters of the Black Pool, coloured like ink; They say a Holy Dragon lives there, whom men have never seen. Beside the Pool they have built a shrine; the authorities have established a ritual; A dragon by itself remains a dragon, but men can make it a god. Prosperity and disaster, rain and drought, plagues and pestilences -- By the village people were all regarded as the Sacred Dragon's doing. They all made offerings of sucking-pig and poured libations of wine; The morning prayers and evening gifts depended on a "medium's" advice. When the dragon comes, ah! The wind stirs and sighs Paper money thrown, ah! Silk umbrellas waved. When the dragon goes, ah! The wind also -- still. Incense-fire dies, ah! The cups and vessels are cold. Meats lie stacked on the rocks of the Pool's shore; Wine flows on the grass in front of the shrine. I do not know, of all those offerings, how much the Dragon eats; But the mice of the woods and the foxes of the hills are continually drunk and sated. Why are the foxes so lucky? What have the sucking-pigs done, That year by year @3they@1 should be killed, merely to glut the foxes? That the foxes are robbing the Sacred Dragon and eating His sucking-pig, Beneath the nine-fold depths of His pool, does He know or not? | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...EVE by CHRISTINA GEORGINA ROSSETTI MUSIC IN THE NIGHT by HARRIET PRESCOTT SPOFFORD MILLS OF DESTINY by EVA K. ANGLESBURG THE BANJO FIEND by WILLARD GROSVENOR BLEYER TO THOS. FLOYD by ROBERT SEYMOUR BRIDGES NOT YET by WILLIAM CULLEN BRYANT |