| |
| ALONG the scholar’s glowing page | |
| I read the Orient thinker’s dream | |
| Of things that are not what they seem,— | |
| Of mystic chant and Soma’s rage. | |
| |
| The sunlight flooding all the room | 5 |
| To me again was Indra’s smile, | |
| And on the hearth the blazing pile | |
| For Agni’s sake did fret and fume. | |
| |
| Yet most I read of who aspire | |
| To win Nirvana’s deep repose, | 10 |
| Of that long way the Spirit goes | |
| To reach the absence of desire. | |
| |
| But through the music of my book | |
| Another music smote my ear, | |
| A tinkle silver-sweet and clear,— | 15 |
| The babble of the mountain-brook. | |
| |
| “O, leave,” it said, “your ancient seers; | |
| Come out into the woods with me; | |
| Behold an older mystery | |
| Than Buddhist’s hope or Brahman’s fears!” | 20 |
| |
| The voice so sweet I could but hear; | |
| I sallied forth, with staff in hand, | |
| While, mile on mile, the mountain-land | |
| Was radiant with the dying year. | |
| |
| I heard the startled partridge whir, | 25 |
| And crinkling through the tender grass | |
| I saw the striped addér pass, | |
| Where dropped the chestnut’s prickly bur. | |
| |
| I saw the miracle of life | |
| From death upspringing evermore; | 30 |
| The fallen tree a forest bore | |
| Of tiny forms with beauty rife. | |
| |
| I gathered mosses rare and sweet, | |
| The acorn in its carven cup: | |
| Mid heaps of leaves, wind-gathered up, | 35 |
| I trod with half-remorseful feet. | |
| |
| The maple’s blush I made my own, | |
| The sumac’s crimson splendor bold, | |
| The poplar’s hue of paly gold, | |
| The faded chestnut, crisp and brown. | 40 |
| |
| I climbed the mountain’s shaggy crest, | |
| Where masses huge of molten rock, | |
| After long years of pain and shock, | |
| Fern-covered, from their wanderings rest. | |
| |
| Far, far below the valley spread | 45 |
| Its rich, roof-dotted, wide expanse; | |
| And further still the sunlight’s dance | |
| The amorous river gayly led. | |
| |
| But still, with all I heard or saw | |
| There mingled thoughts of that old time, | 50 |
| And that enchanted eastern clime | |
| Where Buddha gave his mystic law,— | |
| |
| Till, wearied with the lengthy way, | |
| I found a spot where all was still, | |
| Just as the sun behind the hill | 55 |
| Was making bright the parting day. | |
| |
| On either side the mountains stood, | |
| Masses of color rich and warm; | |
| And over them in giant form | |
| The rosy moon serenely glowed. | 60 |
| |
| My heart was full as it could hold; | |
| The Buddha’s paradise was mine; | |
| My mountain-nook its inmost shrine, | |
| The fretted sky its roof of gold. | |
| |
| Nirvana’s peace my soul had found,— | 65 |
| Absence complete of all desire,— | |
| While the great moon was mounting higher, | |
| And deeper quiet breathed around. | |
| |
