Fox Footprints/Chang Wat
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Chang Wat
The wat towers rise in slim phantasy against the evening,
Pied with flowers of porcelain are they like an English meadow
Or the border of some monkish chronicle.
The ragged ravens light on their galleries,
And circle, cawing, in flocks about the gardens,
Below the river lies, agleam with sunset.
Pied with flowers of porcelain are they like an English meadow
Or the border of some monkish chronicle.
The ragged ravens light on their galleries,
And circle, cawing, in flocks about the gardens,
Below the river lies, agleam with sunset.
Buddha! Master! all things serve thee.
See how the peaceful heavens wrap themselves
In the yellow cloak of thy ministry, bending low
To cast its folds across the river's bosom.
After the heat of the day comes the quiet of thy teaching,
When the fierce heart of the sky softens to meditation.
After the bitterness of youth, and the foulness of desire,
Comes wisdom to the hearts of thy children, thy servants of the Yellow Robe.
See how the peaceful heavens wrap themselves
In the yellow cloak of thy ministry, bending low
To cast its folds across the river's bosom.
After the heat of the day comes the quiet of thy teaching,
When the fierce heart of the sky softens to meditation.
After the bitterness of youth, and the foulness of desire,
Comes wisdom to the hearts of thy children, thy servants of the Yellow Robe.