Classic and Contemporary Poetry
THE LAW OF DEATH, by JOHN MILTON HAY Poet's Biography First Line: The song of kilvany. Fairest she Last Line: And laid her child at buddha's feet. Variant Title(s): Kilvany Subject(s): Buddhism; Buddha; Buddhists | ||||||||
THE song of Kilvany: fairest she In all the land of Savatthi. She had one child, as sweet and gay And dear to her as the light of day. She was so young, and he so fair, The same bright eyes and the same dark hair; To see them by the blossomy way, They seemed two children at their play. There came a death-dart from the sky, Kilvany saw her darling die. The glimmering shade his eyes invades, Out of his cheek the red bloom fades; His warm heart feels the icy chill, The round limbs shudder, and are still. And yet Kilvany held him fast Long after life's last pulse was past, As if her kisses could restore The smile gone out forevermore. But when she saw her child was dead, She scattered ashes on her head, And seized the small corpse, pale and sweet, And rushing wildly through the street, She sobbing fell at Buddha's feet. "Master, all-helpful, help me now! Here at thy feet I humbly bow; Have mercy, Buddha, help me now!" She groveled on the marble floor, And kissed the dead child o'er and o'er. And suddenly upon the air There fell the answer to her prayer: "Bring me to-night a lotus tied With thread from a house where none has died." She rose, and laughed with thankful joy, Sure that the god would save the boy. She found a lotus by the stream; She plucked it from its noonday dream. And then from door to door she fared, To ask what house by Death was spared. Her heart grew cold to see the eyes Of all dilate with slow surprise: "Kilvany, thou hast lost thy head; Nothing can help a child that's dead. There stands not by the Ganges' side A house where none hath ever died." Thus, through the long and weary day, From every door she bore away Within her heart, and on her arm, A heavier load, a deeper harm. By gates of gold and ivory, By wattled huts of poverty, The same refrain heard poor Kilvany, The living are few, the dead are many. The evening came -- so still and fleet -- And overtook her hurrying feet. And, heartsick, by the sacred fane She fell, and prayed the god again. She sobbed and beat her bursting breast: "Ah, thou hast mocked me, Mightiest! Lo! I have wandered far and wide; There stands no house where none hath died." And Buddha answered, in a tone Soft as a flute at twilight blown, But grand as heaven and strong as death To him who hears with ears of faith: "Child, thou art answered. Murmur not! Bow, and accept the common lot." Kilvany heard with reverence meet, And laid her child at Buddha's feet. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...DEATH SUNYATA CHANT: A RITE FOR PASSING OVER by DIANE DI PRIMA I FAIL AS A DHARMA TEACHER by DIANE DI PRIMA TO THE UNNAMED BUDDHIST NUN WHO BURNED HERSELF TO DEATH by DIANE DI PRIMA A FIFTEENTH CENTURY ZEN MASTER by NORMAN DUBIE GHOSTS ON THE NORTHERN LAND OF UR; CIRCA 2100 C.E. by NORMAN DUBIE POEM FOR MY FRIEND, CLARE. OR, WITH WHITE STUPAS WE REMEMBER BUDDHA by NORMAN DUBIE LADAKH BUDDHESS BIKER by LAWRENCE FERLINGHETTI FURTHER ADVANTAGES OF LEARNING by KENNETH REXROTH |
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