Would that by Hindu magic we became 
Dark monks of jeweled India long ago, 
Sitting at Prince Siddartha's feet to know 
The foolishness of gold and love and station, 
The gospel of the Great Renunciation, 
The ragged cloak, the staff, the rain and sun, 
The beggar's life, with far Nirvana gleaming: 
Lord, make us Buddhas, dreaming.