The Englishman and Other Poems | Page 5

waiting
far beyond the great world's mart -
Immortal answer, to the mortal
call.
Unknown the artist, vaguely known his creed:
But the bronze wonder
of his work sufficed
To lift me to the heights his faith had trod.
For
one rich moment, opulent indeed,
I walked with Krishna, Buddha,
and the Christ,
And felt the full serenity of God.
THE LITTLE LADY OF THE BULLOCK CART
Now is the time when India is gay
With wedding parties; and the
radiant throngs
Seem like a scattered rainbow taking part
In human
pleasures. Dressed in bright array,
They fling upon the bride their
wreaths of songs -
The Little Lady of the Bullock Cart.
Here is the temple ready for the rite:
The large-eyed bullocks halt;
and waiting arms
Lift down the bride. All India's curious art
Speaks
in the gems with which she is bedight.
And in the robes which hide
her sweet alarms -
The Little Lady of the Bullock Cart.
This is her day of days: her splendid hour
When joy is hers, though
love is all unknown.
It has not dawned upon her childish heart.
But
human triumph, in a temporal power,
Has crowned her queen upon a
one-day throne -
The Little Lady of the Bullock Cart.
Ah, Little Lady! What will be your fate?
So long, so long, the
outward-reaching years:
So brief the joy of this elusive part;
So
frail the shoulders for the loads that wait:
So bitter salt the virgin
widow's tears -
O Little Lady of the Bullock cart.
EAST AND WEST
The Day has never understood the Gloaming or the Night;
Though

sired by one Creative Power, and nursed at Nature's breast; The White
Man ever fails to read the Dark Man's heart aright; Though from the
self-same Source they came, upon the self-same quest; So deep and
wide, the Great Divide,
Between the East and West.
But like a shadow on a screen, mine eyes behold, above
The yawning
gulf, a dim forecast, of structures strong and broad; Where caste, and
colour prejudice, by countless feet down trod, With old traditions
crushed by Time, pave smooth the bridge of Love; And all the creed
that men shall heed
Is consciousness of God.
THE SQUANDERER
God gave him passions, splendid as the sun,
Meant for the lordliest
purposes; a part
Of nature's full and fertile mother heart,
From
which new systems and new stars are spun.
And now, behold, behold,
what he has done!
In Folly's court and carnal Pleasures' mart
He flung the wealth life
gave him at the start.
(This, of all mortal sins, the deadliest one.)
At dawn he stood, potential, opulent,
With virile manhood, and emotions keen,
And wonderful with God's creative fire.
At noon he stands, with
Love's large fortune spent
In petty traffic, unproductive, mean -
A pauper, cursed with impotent desire.
COMPENSATIONS
I
BLIND

When first the shadows fell, like prison bars,
And darkness spread
before me, like a pall,
I cried out for the sun, the earth, the stars,

And beat the air, as madmen beat a wall,
Till, impotent, and broken
with despair,
I turned my vision inward. Lo, a spark -
A light--a
torch; and all my world grew bright;
For God's dear eyes were
shining through the dark.
Then, bringing to me gifts of recompense,

Came keener hearing, finer taste, and touch;
And that oft
unappreciated sense,
Which finds sweet odours, and proclaims them
such;
And not until my mortal eyes were blind
Did I perceive how
kind the world, how kind.
II
DEAF
I can recall a time, when on mine ears
There fell chaotic sounds of
earthly life,
Shrill cries of triumph, and hoarse shouts of strife;
A
medley of despairs, and hopes and fears.
Then silence came, and
unavailing tears.
The stillness stabbed me, like a two edged-knife;

Until I found the Universe was rife
With subtle music of the
neighbouring spheres.
Such harmonies, such congruous sweet chords,

Wherein each note conveys a healing balm.
And now no more I
miss men's spoken words;
For, in a quiet world of larger thought,
I
know the joy that comes from being calm.
III
SHUT-IN
Across my window glass
The moving shadows of the people pass.

Sometimes the shadow's pause; and through the hall
Kind neighbours
come to call,
Bringing a word or smile
To cheer my loneliness a
little while.
But as I hear them talk,
These people who can walk

And go about the great green earth at will,
I wonder if they know the
joy of being still,
And all alone with thoughts that soar afar -
High

as the highest star.
And oft I feel more free
Than those who travel
over land and sea.
For one who is shut in,
Away from all the outer
strife and din,
With faithful Pain for guide,
Finds where Great
Truths abide.
Across my window glass
The moving shadows pass.
But swifter
moves my unimpeded thought,
Speeding from spot to spot -
Out
and afar -
High as the highest star.
SONG OF THE RAIL
Oh, an ugly thing is an iron rail,
Black, with its face to the dust.
But
it carries a message where winged things fail;
It crosses the
mountains, and catches the trail,
While the winds and the sea make
sport of a sail;
Oh,