Last modified on 11 December 2012, at 07:58

Edwin Arnold

Edwin Arnold

Sir Edwin Arnold (June 10, 1832March 24, 1904) was an English poet and journalist.

SourcedEdit

  • He who died at Azan sends
    This to comfort all his friends:—
    Faithful friends! It lies I know
    Pale and white and cold as snow;
    And ye say, 'Abdallah’s dead!'
    Weeping at the feet and head.
    I can see your falling tears,
    I can hear your sighs and prayers;
    Yet I smile and whisper this:
    I am not the thing you kiss.
    Cease your tears and let it lie;
    It was mine—it is not I.
    • After Death in Arabia.
  • We are the voices of the wandering wind,
    Which moan for rest and rest can never find;
    Lo! as the wind is, so is mortal life,
    A moan, a sigh, a sob, a storm, a strife.
    • The Deva's Song.

The Light of AsiaEdit

  • Below the highest sphere four Regents sit
    Who rule our world, and under them are zones
    Nearer, but high, where saintliest spirits dead
    Wait thrice ten thousand years, then live again;
    And on Lord Buddha, waiting in that sky,
    Came for our sakes the five sure signs of birth
    So that the Devas knew the signs, and said
    "Buddha will go again to help the World."
    "Yea!" spake He, "now I go to help the World.
    This last of many times; for birth and death
    End hence for me and those who learn my Law.
    I will go down among the Sakyas,
    Under the southward snows of Himalay,
    Where pious people live and a just King."
    • Book The First.
  • Now, when our Lord was come to eighteen years,
    The King commanded that there should be built
    Three stately houses, one of hewn square beams
    With cedar lining, warm for winter days;
    One of veined marbles, cool for summer heat;
    And one of burned bricks, with blue tiles bedecked,
    Pleasant at seed-time, when the champaks bud--
    Subha, Suramma, Ramma, were their names.
    Delicious gardens round about them bloomed,
    Streams wandered wild and musky thickets stretched,
    With many a bright pavilion and fair lawn
    In midst of which Siddartha strayed at will,
    Some new delight provided every hour;
    And happy hours he knew, for life was rich,
    With youthful blood at quickest; yet still came
    The shadows of his meditation back,
    As the lake's silver dulls with driving clouds.
    • Book The Second.

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