George Willis Cooke, comp. The Poets of Transcendentalism: An Anthology. 1903.
NirvanaJohn White Chadwick (18401904)
A
I read the Orient thinker’s dream
Of things that are not what they seem,
Of mystic chant and Soma’s rage.
To me again was Indra’s smile,
And on the hearth the blazing pile
For Agni’s sake did fret and fume.
To win Nirvana’s deep repose,—
Of that long way the spirit goes
To reach the absence of desire.
Another music smote my ear,—
A tinkle silver-sweet and clear,—
The babble of the mountain-brook.
Come out into the woods with me;
Behold an older mystery
Than Buddhist’s hope or Brahman’s fears!”
I sallied forth with staff in hand,
Where, mile on mile, the mountain land
Was radiant with the dying year.
And crinkling through the tender grass
I saw the stripèd adder pass,
Where dropped the chestnut’s prickly burr.
From death upspringing evermore;
The fallen tree a forest bore
Of tiny forms with beauty rife.
The acorn in its carven cup;
’Mid heaps of leaves, wind-gathered up,
I trod with half-remorseful feet.
The sumac’s crimson splendor bold,
The poplar’s hue of paly gold,
The faded chestnut, crisp and brown.
Where masses huge of molten rock,
After long years of pain and shock,
Fern-covered, from their wanderings rest.
Its rich, roof-dotted, wide expanse;
And further still the sunlight’s dance
The amorous river gayly led.
There mingled thoughts of that old time,
And that enchanted Eastern clime
Where Buddha gave his mystic law,—
I found a spot where all was still,
Just as the sun behind the hill
Was making bright the parting day.
Masses of color rich and warm;
And over them, in giant form,
The rosy moon serenely glowed.
The Buddha’s paradise was mine;
My mountain-nook its inmost shrine,
The fretted sky its roof of gold.
Absence complete of all desire,—
While the great moon was mounting higher,
And deeper quiet breathed around.