Free of desire, save no desire to know.

To gain that sweet Nirvana each one tries,

Thinks to assuage soul-wearing passion so.

From the white rest, the ante-natal bliss,

Not loth, the wondrous wondering soul awakes;

Now drawn to that illusion, now to this,

With gathering strength each devious pathway takes;

Till at the noon of life his aims decline;

Evermore earthward bend the tiring eyes,

Evermore earthward, till with no surprise

They see Nirvana from Earth's bosom shine.

The still kind mother holds her child again

In blank desirelessness without a stain.

VI.

He comes to me like air on parching grass;

His eyes are wells where truth lives, found at last;

Summer is fragrant should he this way pass;

His calm love is a chain that binds me fast....

Yet often melancholy will forecast

That time when I shall have grown old—when he—

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