We are the voices of the wandering wind, 
Which moan for rest and rest can never find; 
Lo! as the wind is so is mortal life, 
A moan , a sigh, a sob, a storm, a strife. 
Wherefore and whence we are ye cannot know, 
Nor where life springs nor whither life doth go: 
We are as ye are, ghosts from the inane, 
What pleasure have we of our changeful pain? 
What pleasure hast thou of thy changeless bliss?
Nay, if love lasted, there were joy in this; 
But life's way is the wind's way, all these things 
Are but brief voices breathed on shifting strings. 

O Maya's son! because we roam the earth 
Moan we upon these strings; we make no mirth, 
So many woes we see in many lands, 
So many streaming eyes and wringing hands. 
Yet mock we while we wail, for, could they know, 
This life they cling to is but empty show;
'Twere all as well to bid a cloud to stand, 
Or hold a running river with the hand. 
But thou that art to save, thine hour is nigh! 
The sad world waiteth in its misery, 
The blind world stumbleth on its round of pain; 
Rise, Maya's child! wake! slumber not again! 

We are the voices of the wandering wind: 
Wander thou, too, O Prince, thy rest to find; 
Leave love for love of lovers for woe's sake 
Quit state for sorrow, and deliverance make. 
So sigh we, passing o'er the silver strings, 
To thee who know'st not yet of earthly things; 
So say we; mocking, as we pass away, 
These lovely shadows wherewith thou dost play. 

Thereafter it befell he sate at eve
Amid his beauteous Court, holding the hand
Of sweet Yasôdhara, and some maid told --
With breaks of music when her rich voice dropped --
An ancient tale to speed the hour of dusk,
Of love, and of a magic horse, and lands
Wonderful, distant, where pale peoples dwelled,
And where the sun at night sank into seas.

Then spake he, sighing, "Chitra brings me back
The wind's song in the strings with that fair tale.
Give her, Yasôdhara, thy pearl for thanks.
But thou, my pearl! is there so wide a world?
Is there a land which sees the great sun roll
Into the waves, and are there hearts like ours,
Countless, unknown, not happy -- it may be --
Whom we might succor if we knew of them?
Ofttimes I marvel, as the Lord of day
Treads from the east his kingly road of gold,
Who first on the world's edge hath hailed his beam,
The children of the morning; oftentimes,
Even in thine arms and on thy breasts, bright wife,
Sore have I panted, at the sun's decline,
To pass with him into that crimson west
And see the peoples of the evening.
There must be many we should love -- how else?
Now have I in this hour an ache, at last,
Thy soft lips cannot kiss away: oh, girl!
O Chitra! you that know of fairyland!
Where tether they that swift steed of the tale?
My palace for one day upon his back,
To ride and ride and see the spread of the earth
Nay, if I had yon callow vulture's plumes --
The carrion heir of wider realms than mine --
How would I stretch for topmost Himalay,
Light where the rose-gleam lingers on those snows,
And strain my gaze with searching what is round!
Why have I never seen and never sought?
Tell me what lies beyond our brazen gates." 

Then one replied, "The city first, fair Prince!
The temples, and the gardens, and the groves,
And then the fields, and afterwards fresh fields,
With nullahs, maidâns, jungle, koss on koss;
And next King Bimbasâra's realm, and then
The vast flat world, with crores on crores of folk."
"Good," said Siddârtha, "let the word be sent
That Channa yoke my chariot --at noon
Tomorrow I shall ride and see beyond." 

Whereof they told the King: "Our Lord, thy son,
Wills that his chariot be yoked at noon,
That he may ride abroad and see mankind." 
"Yea!" spake the careful King, "'tis time he see! 
But let the criers go about and bid
My city deck itself, so there be met
No noisome sight; and let none blind or maimed,
None that is sick or stricken deep in years,
No leper, and no feeble folk come forth."
Therefore the stones were swept, and up and down
The water-carriers sprinkled all the streets
From spirting skins, the housewives scattered fresh
Red powder on their thresholds, strung new wreaths,
And trimmed the tulsi-bush before their doors.
The paintings on the walls were heightened up
With liberal brush, the trees set thick with flags,
The idols gilded; in the four-went ways
Suryadeva and the great gods shone
'Mid shrines of leaves; so that the city seemed
A capital of some enchanted land.
Also the criers passed, with drum and gong,
Proclaiming loudly, "Ho! all citizens,
The King commands that there be seen to-day
No evil sight: let no one blind or maimed,
None that is sick or stricken deep in years,
No leper, and no feeble folk go forth.
Let none, too, burn his dead nor bring them out
Till nightfall. Thus Suddhôdana commands." 

So all was comely and the houses trim
Throughout Kapilavastu, while the Prince
Came forth in painted car, which two steers drew,
Snow-white, with swinging dewlaps and huge humps
Wrinkled against the carved and lacquered yoke.
Goodly it was to mark the people's joy
Greeting their Prince; and glad Siddârtha waxed
At sight of all those liege and friendly folk
Bright-clad and laughing as if life were good.
"Fair is the world," he said, "it likes me well! 
And light and kind these men that are not kings,
And sweet my sisters here, who toil and tend;
What have I done for these to make them thus?
Why, if I love them, should those children know?
I pray take up yon pretty Sâkya boy
Who flung us flowers, and let him ride with me.
How good it is to reign in realms like this!
How simple pleasure is, if these be pleased
Because I come abroad! How many things
I need not if such little households hold
Enough to make our city full of smiles!
Drive, Channa! through the gates, and let me see
More of this gracious world I have not known."
So passed they through the gates, a joyous crowd
Thronging about the wheels, whereof some ran
Before the oxen, throwing wreaths, some stroked
Their silken flanks, some brought them rice and cakes,
All crying, "Jai! jai! for our noble Prince!" 
Thus all the path was kept with gladsome looks <