52

DISAPPOINTMENT

They think thee bitter:

Thou art not made o' laughter

Nor love's smile

Can thy vision beguile:

Like a black-fiery comet

Suddenly, sinisterly, thou comest;

Making thy fateful journey,

Littering the floor of destiny

With wreckages of life,

Of love, of heart—

Of all visitors thou art the surest;

Halting nowhere long, endlessly passest,

Dragging behind thee thy train of fire

That burneth all, heedless of curse or prayer.

[61]

[61]

53

BUDDHA

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