Now more than ever, Peter thought,

I know how tall the young gods feel,

Stricken with that amazing wound

Of godhead that will never heal.

They understand at last. This hurt,

That might with mortal haste have bled,

Illumines them with fiery peace.

Like this forever, Peter said.

This terror and delight of love,

This tireless passion of the eyes,

This immortality of hands

That through the fingertips grow wise,

The body proud forever now,

Knowing the skeleton of gold,

And heart stretched wide enough at last

To hold more love than heart can hold.