The Lotus-Worshippers

With silent feet in trailing robes of white They crept from shadowy temples, far beyond Tall bamboo groves, to seek the lotus-pond That gleamed like some dark jewel through the night Upon great Buddha's breast. The crimson height Echoed their chanting as the morning dawned, And each bud, breaking from its silver bond, Lifted its cup to catch the golden light.

And here beside this mist-bound northern lake, Encircled by tall spires of Gothic firs, The ancient beauty-worship wakes and stirs Within me, as I watch the morning break Upon white lily-buds, whose lips agleam Whisper the secret of the world-old dream.