| I passed along the water’s edge below the humid trees, |
| My spirit rocked in evening light, the rushes
round my knees, |
| My spirit rocked in sleep and sighs; and saw the moorfowl pace |
| All dripping on a grassy
slope, and saw them cease to chase |
| Each other round in circles, and heard the eldest speak: |
| Who
holds the world between His bill and made us strong or weak |
| Is an undying moorfowl, and He lives beyond
the sky. |
| The rains are from His dripping wing, the moonbeams from His eye. |
| I passed a little further on
and heard a lotus talk: |
| Who made the world and ruleth it, He hangeth on a stalk, |
| For I am in His image
made, and all this tinkling tide |
| Is but a sliding drop of rain between His petals wide. |
| A little way within
the gloom a roebuck raised his eyes |
| Brimful of starlight, and he said: The Stamper of the Skies, |
| He is a
gentle roebuck; for how else, I pray, could He |
| Conceive a thing so sad and soft, a gentle thing like me? |
| I passed a little further on and heard a peacock say: |
| Who made the grass and made the worms and
made my feathers gay, |
| He is a monstrous peacock, and He waveth all the night |
| His languid tail above
us, lit with myriad spots of light. |