Classic Poem

Into the room the level sunrays stream,
Shooting from under a low rainy cloud
Through shivering branches of a poplar bowed
In the wind of sunset; and in golden dream
The dull day ends; and the walls of creamy white
Quiver with rippling gold that fills the glass
Of a green amphora with wine-gold light,
And burnishes the old Benares brass.
And suddenly in the quickening glory of gold;
Buddha, who long has brooded in the gloom
Overshadowed by a curved Ascari knife,
Wrapt in his robe of reverie manifold
Glows young and fair, a very lord of life.
Until his presence fills the little room.