I PASSED along the water's edge below the humid trees, <br />My spirit rocked in evening light, the rushes round my knees, <br />My spirit rocked in sleep and sighs; and saw the moorfowl pace <br />All dripping on a grassy slope, and saw them cease to chase <br />Each other round in circles, and heard the eldest speak: <br />Who holds the world between His bill and made us strong or weak <br />Is an undying moorfowl, and He lives beyond the sky. <br />The rains are from His dripping wing, the moonbeams from His eye. <br />I passed a little further on and heard a lotus talk: <br />Who made the world and ruleth it, He hangeth on a stalk, <br />For I am in His image made, and all this tinkling tide <br />Is but a sliding drop of rain between His petals wide. <br />A little way within the gloom a roebuck raised his eyes <br />Brimful of starlight, and he said: The Stamper of the Skies, <br />He is a gentle roebuck; for how else, I pray, could He <br />Conceive a thing so sad and soft, a gentle thing like me? <br />I passed a little further on and heard a peacock say: <br />Who made the grass and made the worms and made my feathers gay, <br />He is a monstrous peacock, and He waveth all the night <br />His languid tail above us, lit with myriad spots of light.<br /><br />William Butler Yeats<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/the-indian-upon-god/
