Nature is a temple, whose living pillars
Let escape, now and then, some confused words.
Man passes through densely symbolic woods
That observe him with familiar stares.
As long, distant echoes mix together
In a shadowy and deep unity,
Vast as the night, clear as the light of day,
Smells, colors, and sounds speak to each other.
There are smells fresh as young children’s flesh,
Gentle as oboes, green as prairie Springs,
– And others, rich, triumphant, and vicious
Expanding out to infinite things,
Like amber, musk, Benjamin, and incense
That sing the transports of spirit and of sense.