The wide Pacific waters And the Atlantic meet. With cries of joy they mingle, In tides of love they greet. Above the drowned ages A wind of wooing blows: — The red rose woos the lotos, The lotos woos the rose . . . The lotos conquered Egypt. The rose was loved in Rome. Great India crowned the lotos: (Britain the rose's home). Old China crowned the lotos, They crowned it in Japan. But Christendom adored the rose Ere Christendom began . . . The lotos speaks of slumber: The rose is as a dart. The lotos is Nirvana: The rose is Mary's heart. The rose is deathless, restless, The splendor of our pain: The flush and fire of labor That builds, not all in vain. . . . The genius of the lotos Shall heal earth's too-much fret. The rose, in blinding glory, Shall waken Asia yet. Hail to their loves, ye peoples! Behold, a world-wind blows, That aids the ivory lotos To wed the red red rose!