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With a Bouquet of Twelve Roses

 I saw Lord Buddha towering by my gate 
Saying: "Once more, good youth, I stand and wait.
" Saying: "I bring you my fair Law of Peace And from your withering passion full release; Release from that white hand that stabbed you so.
The road is calling.
With the wind you go, Forgetting her imperious disdain — Quenching all memory in the sun and rain.
" "Excellent Lord, I come.
But first," I said, "Grant that I bring her these twelve roses red.
Yea, twelve flower kisses for her rose-leaf mouth, And then indeed I go in bitter drouth To that far valley where your river flows In Peace, that once I found in every rose.

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