Yet not more
     Knew he as yet of grief than that one bird’s,
     Which, being healed, went joyous to its kind. 
     But on another day the King said, “Come,
     Sweet son! and see the pleasaunce of the spring,
     And how the fruitful earth is wooed to yield
     Its riches to the reaper; how my realm—­
     Which shall be thine when the pile flames for me—­
     Feeds all its mouths and keeps the King’s chest filled. 
     Fair is the season with new leaves, bright blooms,
     Green grass, and cries of plow-time.”  So they rode
     Into a land of wells and gardens, where,
     All up and down the rich red loam, the steers
     Strained their strong shoulders in the creaking yoke,
     Dragging the plows; the fat soil rose and rolled
     In smooth dark waves back from the plow; who drove
     Planted both feet upon the leaping share
     To make the furrow deep; among the palms
     The tinkle of the rippling water rang,
     And where it ran the glad earth ’broidered it
     With balsams and the spears of lemon-grass. 
     Elsewhere were sowers who went forth to sow;
     And all the jungle laughed with nesting-songs,
     And all the thickets rustled with small life
     Of lizard, bee, beetle, and creeping things,
     Pleased at the springtime.  In the mango-sprays
     The sunbirds flashed; alone at his green forge
     Toiled the loud coppersmith; bee-eaters hawked,
     Chasing the purple butterflies; beneath,
     Striped squirrels raced, the mynas perked and picked,
     The nine brown sisters chattered in the thorn,
     The pied fish-tiger hung above the pool,
     The egrets stalked among the buffaloes,
     The kites sailed circles in the golden air;
     About the painted temple peacocks flew,
     The blue doves cooed from every well, far off
     The village drums beat for some marriage feast;
     All things spoke peace and plenty, and the Prince
     Saw and rejoiced.  But, looking deep, he saw
     The thorns which grow upon this rose of life: 
     How the swart peasant sweated for his wage,
     Toiling for leave to live; and how he urged
     The great-eyed oxen through the flaming hours,
     Goading their velvet flanks:  then marked he, too,
     How lizard fed on ant, and snake on him,
     And kite on both; and how the fish-hawk robbed
     The fish-tiger of that which it had seized;
     The shrike chasing the bulbul, which did chase
     The jeweled butterflies; till everywhere
     Each slew a slayer and in turn was slain,
     Life living upon death.  So the fair show
     Veiled one vast, savage, grim conspiracy
     Of mutual murder, from the worm to man,
     Who himself kills his fellow; seeing which—­
     The hungry plowman and his laboring kine,
     Their dewlaps blistered