 | Heliconundrums |  |
63
BUDDHA
If the read writer think he writes,
Or if the reader think he reads,
He knows not half their subtil sleights
Whose written rede is writ in deeds.
Or if the reader think he reads,
He knows not half their subtil sleights
Whose written rede is writ in deeds.
Read or unread to me is clear,
Downside or up to me the same,
The words between the lines appear,
And understanding is my game.
Downside or up to me the same,
The words between the lines appear,
And understanding is my game.
They reckon ill who leave me out,
I am the writer's, reader's wings,
My voice both whisper is and shout,
And silence is the hymn it sings.
I am the writer's, reader's wings,
My voice both whisper is and shout,
And silence is the hymn it sings.
True knowledge hath with me abode,
One word to me is more than seven,
But thou, vain thinker! fling thy load
And mount upon my back to heaven!
One word to me is more than seven,
But thou, vain thinker! fling thy load
And mount upon my back to heaven!
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