The Indian upon God

    My spirit rocked in evening light， the rushes round my knees，

    My spirit rocked in sleep and sighs； and saw the moorfowl pace

    All dripping on a grassy slope， and saw them cease to chase

    Each other round in circles， and heard the eldest speak：

    Who holds the world between His bill and made us strong or weak

    Is an undying moorfowl， and He lives beyond the sky.

    The rains are from His dripping wing， the moonbeams from His eye.

    I passed a little further on and heard a lotus talk：

    Who made the world and ruleth it， He hangeth on a stalk，

    For I am in His image made， and all this tinkling tide

    Is but a sliding drop of rain between His petals wide.

    A little way within the gloom a roebuck raised his eyes

    Brimful of starlight， and he said： The Stamper of the Skies，

    He is a gentle roebuck； for how else， I pray， could He

    Conceive a thing so sad and soft， a gentle thing like me？

    I passed a little further on and heard a peacock say：

    Who made the grass and made the worms and made my feathers gay，

    He is a monstrous peacock， and He waveth all the night

    His languid tail above us， lit with myriad spots of light.