LAURENCE BINYON
ASOKA
I
1 ENTLE 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 5
The gloom ebb into the 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; 10
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 15
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 20
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! 25
Airs from an infinite horizon blow
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