L’envoi
God willed, who never needed speech,“Let all things be:”And, lo, the starry firmamentAnd land and seaAnd his first thought of life that livesIn you and me.
His circle of eternityWe see in part;Our spirits are his breath, our heartsBeat from his heart;Hence we have played as little godsAnd called it art.
Lacking his power, we shared his dreamOf perfect things;Between the tents of hope and sweetRememberingsHave sat in ashes, but our soulsWent forth on wings.
Where life fell short of some desireIn you and me,Feeling for beauty which our eyesCould never see,Behold, from out the void we willedThat it should be,
And sometimes dreamed our lisping songsOf humanhoodMight voice his silent harmonyOf waste and wood,And he, beholding his and ours,Might find it good.
[End of original text.]