Buddha

Vachel Lindsay

Would that by Hindu magic we became
Dark monks of jeweled India long ago,
Sitting at Prince Siddartha’s feet to know
The foolishness of gold and love and station,
The gospel of the Great Renunciation,
The ragged cloak, the staff, the rain and sun,
The beggar’s life, with far Nirvana gleaming:
Lord, make us Buddhas, dreaming.

Next 10 Poems

• Vachel Lindsay : By The Spring, At Sunset
• Vachel Lindsay : Caught In A Net
• Vachel Lindsay : Crickets On A Strike
• Vachel Lindsay : Darling Daughter Of Babylon
• Vachel Lindsay : Drying Their Wings
• Vachel Lindsay : Eden In Winter
• Vachel Lindsay : Edwin Booth
• Vachel Lindsay : Epilogue. Under The Blessing Of Your Psyche Wings
• Vachel Lindsay : Euclid
• Vachel Lindsay : Factory Windows Are Always Broken

Previous 10 Poems

• Vachel Lindsay : Blanche Sweet
• Vachel Lindsay : Beyond The Moon
• Vachel Lindsay : At Mass
• Vachel Lindsay : An Indian Summer Day On The Prairie
• Vachel Lindsay : An Explanation Of The Grasshopper
• Vachel Lindsay : An Apology For The Bottle Volcanic
• Vachel Lindsay : An Account Of The Poem Games
• Vachel Lindsay : Alone In The Wind, On The Prairie
• Vachel Lindsay : Aladdin And The Jinn
• Vachel Lindsay : Abraham Lincoln Walks At Midnight