Vachel Lindsay (Вэчел Линдсей)

Buddha

Would that by Hindu magic we became 
Dark monks of jeweled India long ago, 
Sitting at Prince Siddartha’s feet to know 
The foolishness of gold and love and station, 
The gospel of the Great Renunciation, 
The ragged cloak, the staff, the rain and sun, 
The beggar’s life, with far Nirvana gleaming: 
Lord, make us Buddhas, dreaming.

1. With a Bouquet of Twelve Roses
2. What the Sexton Said
3. Our Mother Pocahontas
4. When Bryan Speaks
5. What the Gray-Winged Fairy Said

Распечатать (Print)

Количество обращений к стихотворению: 1187

Последние стихотворения

To English version