He sits. Upon the kingly head doth rest <br />The round-balled wimple, and the heavy rings <br />Touch on the shoulders where the swallow clings; <br />The downward garment shows the ambiguous breast; <br />The Face--that Face one scarce can look on, lest <br />One learn the secret of unspeakable things; <br />But the dread gaze descends with shudderings <br />To the veiled couched knees, the hands and thumbs close-pressed. <br />O lidded downcast eyes that bear the weight <br />Of all our woes and terrible wrongs increase, <br />Proud nostrils, lips proud-perfecter than these, <br />With what a soul within you do you wait-- <br />Disdain and pity, love late-born of hate, <br />Passion eternal, patience, pride and peace!<br /><br />Francis William Lauderdale Adams<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/dai-butsu/
