He speaks
Out of familiar deeps. Seas sunder us,
But the same stars have cast their ghostly rays
Into our bosoms.
FAUST
And those cloudless eyes
Have seen what we have seen!
THE HOLY ONE
I am refreshed....
Thus long ago, in my most desolate hour,
I was refreshed by draughts from the deep springs
Of light. Beneath a pipal tree I sat
In lost despair; and thither to me came
A pilgrim; and he glanced into mine eyes
With sight that read the sickness of my soul,
And sat beside me, and in measured words
Like far-off song told me this parable:
The Buddha came to where the sea
Curled silver-white upon the land,
And murmurs of infinity
Breathed on the sand.
And there lay shells like rosy foam
Borne from the caverns of the deep,
Frail playthings drifted from the home
Of timeless, tideless sleep.
And on the sand a Fisher stood,
Drying his nets that late had seen
The silent caverns of the flood
And all the wastes between.
The Fisher lingered in his place
With countenance of mild surprise,
And looked upon the Buddha's face
With dumb, uncomprehending eyes.
And Buddha spake: "Thy nets are drawn,
Thy boat rocks idle on the sea,
Thy day turns westward, and is gone....
Come thou with me."