Living for poetry, I live in light.

The darkness driven back by words men write

Borders the full unshadowed country round,

But daylight beats like rain upon the ground.

Now trembles in my mind the blowing there

Of golden wind and wakens me to care

Lest others might not walk in luminous air.

Few have remained here long, few understand

Rumors that I have brought from this bright land.

Nothing is wide enough that I could say.

I envy only the music-maker's way,

Knowing how wildly must he be rejoiced

To change it into music many-voiced.

Think, if you can, of light in level rings,

Renewed profoundly from the heart's own springs.

Tell, if you can with single voice and bare,

The crystal color of that shining air.