The world is growing gentle, But few know what she owes To the understanding lily And the judgment of the rose.

In the darkness, who would answer for the color of a rose, Or the vestments of the May moth and the pilgrimage it goes?

Across the downs a hummingbird Came dipping through the bowers, He pivoted on emptiness To scrutinize the flowers.

The sun shall shine in ages yet to be, The musing moon illumine pastures dim, And afterwards a new nativity For all who slept the dreamless interim.

Oh I'm in love with the janitor's boy, And the janitor's boy loves me; He's going to hunt for a desert isle In our geography.

The world is growing gentle, But few know what she owes To the understanding lily And the judgment of the rose.

When you return, the youngest of the seers, Released from fetters of ancestral pose, There will be beauty waiting down the years Revisions of the ruby and the rose.