Classic Poem

And 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 sands 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. "

The Fisher marvelled: " I must toil
With nets and shells among the caves,
To win the sea's unwilling spoil
From the harsh waves. "

And Buddha answered: " Cast no more
Thy nets upon the troubled sea,
Nor gather shells along the shore.
Come thou with me.

" Thou drawest shells and curious flowers
From out the blue untrodden caves —
Thou seest the passing of the hours —
Thou hearest the clamor of the waves —

" Thou openest the shell where lies
The pearl more white than driven spray —
And trackless past thy vision flies
Each passing day.

" But I will teach thee not to stir
The shell nor flower in its sleep.
For thou shalt roam the sepulchre
That chasms all their native deep.

" And vain desire, like terror grown
Deep in the chambers of thy breast,
Shall be from thee forever flown,
And thou shalt rest.

" No search for pearls shall blind thy thought,
Nor waves, with clamorous harmonies.
But in the silence where is naught
Thou shalt behold the One that is.

" And where the days now speed like foam
Across thy vision, there shall be
For thee a vast eternal home —
An Infinite Sea. "

The Fisher looked on Buddha dumb —
Looked deep into that tender gaze —
Those eyes within whose depths had come
And gone the sorrows of all days.

He looked uncomprehendingly,
And wearily he shook his head;
And turned once more to drag the sea,
Knowing not what the Buddha said.