He has fashioned the stars and the moons to the music
Of innermost-flowering joy and desire,
He has tried his own love for himself through the ages
By flooding his limbs with unquenchable fire
Of creation that dances and bubbles and flutters
In peacocks, in seas, and the hearts of the birds.
Behind the rich silence of red-running sunsets
And cool-coloured sundawns he utters his words.

He is finding for ever his infinite fullness
In blossoming buds and the withering flowers.
He shapes through the heart of the world his Ideal
So white in the midst of the many-hued hours.
He weaves a fine trammel of marvellous colours
Around and about him in utter delight,
Till straight through the darkness his laughter comes lambent,
Birdlike from a cage in a freedom of flight.