"This is the end that comes To all," quoth Channa; "he upon the pyre-- Whose remnants are so petty that the crows Caw hungrily, then quit the fruitless feast-- Ate, drank, laughed, loved, and lived, and liked life well. Then came--who knows?--some gust of junglewind, A stumble on the path, a taint in the tank, A snake's nip, half a span of angry steel, A chill, a fishbone, or a falling tile, And life was over and the man is dead. No appetites, no pleasures, and no pains Hath such; the kiss upon his lips is nought, The fire-scorch nought; he smelleth not his flesh A-roast, nor yet the sandal and the spice They burn; the taste is emptied from his mouth, The hearing of his ears is clogged, the sight Is blinded in his eyes; those whom he loved Wail desolate, for even that must go, The body, which was lamp unto the life, Or worms will have a horrid feast of it. Here is the common destiny of flesh. The high and low, the good and bad, must die, And then, 't is taught, begin anew and live Somewhere, somehow,--who knows?--and so again The pangs, the parting, and the lighted pile-- Such is man's round." But lo! Siddartha turned Eyes gleaming with divine tears to the sky, Eyes lit with heavenly pity to the earth; From sky to earth he looked, from earth to sky, As if his spirit sought in lonely flight Some far-off vision, linking this and that, Lost, past, but searchable, but seen, but known. Then cried he, while his lifted countenance Glowed with the burning passion of a love Unspeakable, the ardour of a hope Boundless, insatiate: "Oh! suffering world, Oh! known and unknown of my common flesh, Caught in this common net of death and woe, And life which binds to both! I see, I feel The vastness of the agony of earth, The vainness of its joys, the mockery Of all its best, the anguish of its worst; Since pleasures end in pain, and youth in age, And love in loss, and life in hateful death, And death in unknown lives, which will but yoke Men to their wheel again to whirl the round Of false delights and woes that are not false. Me too this lure hath cheated, so it seemed Lovely to live, and life a sunlit stream For ever flowing in a changeless peace; Whereas the foolish ripple of the flood Dances so lightly down by bloom and lawn Only to pour its crystal quicklier Into the foul salt sea. The veil is rent Which blinded me! I am as all these men Who cry upon their gods and are not heard Or are not heeded--yet there must be aid! For them and me and all there must be help! Perchance the gods have need of help themselves Being so feeble that when sad lips cry They cannot save! I would not let one cry