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Monday, November 15, 2010


Age cannot reach me where the veils of God have shut me in,
 For me the myriad births of stars and suns do but begin,
And here how fragrantly there blows to me the holy breath,
 Sweet from the flowers and starts and hearts of men
From life and death.

We are NOT old. O heart, we are NOT old.
 The breath that blows
The soul aflame is still a wandering wind
 That comes and goes
And the stirred heart with sudden raptured life a moment glows.

A moment here - a bulrush's brown head in the gray rain;
A moment there -  a child drowned and a heart quickened with pain;

The name of death, the blue deep heaven, the scent of the salt sea;
The spicy grass, the honey robbed from the wild bee

Awhile we walk the world on its wide roads and narrow ways,
And they pass by, the countless shadowy troops of nights and days
We know them not, O happy hearts, for you and I
Watch where within a slow dawn lightens up another sky