Robert Laurence Binyon - Asoka lyrics

I Gentle as fine rain falling from the night, The first beams from the Indian moon at full Steal through the boughs, and brighter and more bright Glide like a breath, a fragrance visible. Asoka round him sees The gloom ebb into glories half--espied Of glimmering bowers through wavering traceries: Pale as a rose by magical degrees Opening, the air breaks into beauty wide, And yields a mystic sweet; And shapes of leaves shadow the pathway side Around Asoka's feet. O happy prince! From his own court he steals; Weary of words is he, weary of throngs. How this wide ecstasy of stillness heals His heart of flatteries and the tale of wrongs! Unseen he climbs the hill, Unheard he brushes with his cloak the dew, While the young moonbeams every hollow fill With hovering flowers, so gradual and so still As if a joy brimmed where that radiance grew, Discovering pale gold Of spikenard balls and champak buds that new Upon the air unfold. He gains the ridge. Wide open rolls the night! Airs from an infinite horizon blow Down holy Ganges, floating vast and bright Through old Magadha's forests. Far below He hears the cool wave fret On rocky islands; soft as moths asleep Come moonlit sails; there on a parapet Of ruined marble, where the moss gleams wet And from black cedars a lone peaco*k cries, Uncloaking rests Asoka, bathing deep In silence, and his eyes Of his own realm the wondrous prospect reap; At last aloud he sighs. II ``How ennobling it is to taste Of the breath of a living power! The shepherd boy on the waste Whose converse, hour by hour, Is alone with the stars and the sun, His days are glorified! And the steersman floating on Down this great Ganges tide, He is blest to be companion of the might Of waters and unwearied winds that run With him, by day, by night: He knows not whence they come, but they his path provide. ``But O more noble far From the heart of power to proceed As the beam flows forth from the star, As the flower unfolds on the reed. It is not we that are strong But the cause, the divine desire, The longing wherewith we long. O flame far--springing from the eternal fire, Feed, feed upon my heart till thou consume These bonds that do me wrong Of time and chance and doom, And I into thy radiance grow and glow entire! ``For he who his own strength trusts, And by violence hungers to tame Men and the earth to his lusts, Though mighty, he falls in shame; As a great fell tiger, whose sound The small beasts quake to hear, When he stretches his throat to the shuddering ground And roars for blood; yet a trembling deer Brings him at last to his end. In a winter torrent falls his murderous bound! His raging claws the unheeding waters rend; Down crags they toss him sheer, With sheep ignobly drowned, And his fierce heart is burst with fury of its fear. III ``Not so ye deal, Immortal Powers, with him Who in his weak hour hath made haste to kneel Where your divine springs out of mystery brim, And carries thence through the world's uproar rude A clear--eyed fortitude; As the poor diver on the Arabian strand From the scorched rocky ledges plunging deep, Glides down the rough dark brine with questing hand Until he feels upleap Founts of fresh water, and his goatskin swells And bears him upward on those buoyant wells Back with a cool boon for his thirsting land. ``I also thirst, O living springs, for you: Would that I might drink now, as when at first Life shone about me glorious and all true, And I abounded in your strength indeed, Which now I sorely need. You have not failed, 'tis I! Yet this abhorred Necessity to hate and to despise-- 'Twas not for this my youthful longing soared, Not thus would I grow wise! Keep my heart tender still, that still is set To love without foreboding or regret, Even as this tender moonlight is outpoured. ``Now now, even now, Sleep doth the sad world take To peace it knows not. Radiant Sleep, wilt thou Unveil thy wonder for me too, who wake? O my soul melts into immensity, And yet 'tis I, 'tis I! A wave upon a silent ocean, thrilled Up from its deepest deeps without a sound, Without a shore to break on, or a bound, Until the world be filled. O mystery of peace, O more profound Than pain or joy, upbuoy me on thy power! Stay, stay, adorèd hour, I am lost, I am found again: My soul is as a fountain springing in the rain.'' --Long, long upon that cedarn--shadowed height Musing, Asoka mingled with the night. At last the moon sank o'er the forest wide. Within his soul those fountains welled no more, Yet breathed a balm still, fresh as fallen dew: The mist coiled upward over Ganges shore; And he arose and sighed, And gathered his cloak round him, and anew Threaded the deep woods to his palace door.