Sweet is the life of the flower that springs of the calm of night;
Born for a single day, and as the morning, bright;
Quietly open its petals, and peace lies at their heart:
And the sun falls; and the wind blows; and the petals are blown apart.
Good, ah, good, is the life of the clustered boles in the wood;
Good the sunrise, good the dewfall; good, exceeding good:
And the sun and the dewfall build the branches large and firm and sound:
Build them awhile, and leave them awhile; and yield them again to the ground.

Light of heart is the life of the water that finds its way
Out of the caverns of earth to the grace and joy of day;
Lightly it leaps the crag, and lightly follows its quest,
Out of the mountain, into the valley, and down to the deep sea's rest.