Nature’s a shrine
where living columns stand
And now and then breathe
a confounded phrase,
Man wanders there amid a forestland
Of symbols, followed by
their intimate gaze.
As long-drawn echoes blent
from far away
together into dark deep unison,
As vast as night and like the light of day,
colors, sounds and perfumes
respond as one.
There are scents fresh as flesh
of any child,
Meadow-green, mellow as an oboe tone,
- and others: rich, corrupt,
expanding like the infinite alone
like ambers, musks and
that sing the ecstasies of soul and sense.