The Indian Upon God (W.B. Yeats)

I passed along the waters edge below the humid trees,

My spirit rocked in evening light, the rushes round my knees,

My spirit rocked in sleep and sighs, and saw the moorfowl pace,

All dripping on a grassy slope, and saw them cease to chase

Each other round in circles, and heard the eldest speak:

Who holds the world between his bill made us strong or weak,

Is an undying moorfowl, and he lives beyond the sky.

The rains are from his dripping wing, the moon beams from his eye.

I passed a little further on and heard a lotus talk:

Who made the world and raiseth it, he hangeth on a stalk,

For I am in his image made, and all this tinkling tide,

Is but a sliding drop of rain between his petals wide.

A little way within the gloom a roebuck raised his eyes

Brimful of starlight, and he said: the stamper of the skies

He is a gentle roebuck, for how else, I pray, could he

Conceive a thing so sad and soft, a gentle thing like me.

I passed a little further on and heard a peacock say,

Who made the grass and made the worms and made my feathers gay,

He is a monstrous peacock, and he waveth all the night,

His languid tail above us, lit with myriad spots of light.