water and what remains is called memory. Recollect and pray. And you
will find the dearly loved images again."

And as an azure kingfisher darted above the reeds, the poet cried:

"Dear angel! Do I not see the color of my mother's eyes in the wings
of that bird?"

And the divine spirit answered:

"It is as you have said. But look again."

From the top of a tree where a turtle-dove had built her nest a downy
white feather fell soaring and eddying to the water.

And the poet cried:

"Dear angel! Is not this white down, my mother's gentle purity?"

And the divine spirit answered:

"It is as you have said."

A light breeze ruffled the water and made the leaves rustle.

The poet asked:

"Is not that the grave sweet voice of my father?"

And the spirit answered: