In the Woods Are Many More

Selling wild orchids at my door one day
A man said, ‘In the woods are many more…
Deep in the gloom, high on the thickset trees,
Wild orchids hang like clouds of butterflies,
Golden and white, spotted with red and black,
As huge as birds, or tiny as a bee,
Wild orchids which no eye has ever seen
Save ours, who wander in these rich green glooms
All day throughout the year.’ I bought his sprays,
Paid him, and bore them in; and as I went
My eyes by chance fell on a shelf of books, –
The Buddha’s Teachings, – and thereafter glanced
Up to the Buddha’s image as He smiled
Above them from the alcove. Strange it was
That, as my eyes from book to image passed,
Dwelling an instant on that calm, pure Face,
There, with the frail cold blossoms in my hands,
The words that man spoke at my door should ring
Through my stilled heart again and yet again
Like music – ‘In the woods are many more…’