By symbol of words or by echo of art.




L'envoi



God willed, who never needed speech,
"Let all things be:"
And, lo, the starry firmament
And land and sea
And his first thought of life that lives
In you and me.

His circle of eternity
We see in part;
Our spirits are his breath, our hearts
Beat from his heart;
Hence we have played as little gods
And called it art.

Lacking his power, we shared his dream
Of perfect things;
Between the tents of hope and sweet
Rememberings
Have sat in ashes, but our souls
Went forth on wings.