At length the man perceives it die away, And fade into the light of common day.

Let the moon shine on the in thy solitary walk; and let the misty mountain-winds be free to blow against thee.

The very flowers are sacred to the poor.

Nuns fret not at their convent's narrow room; And hermits are contented with their cells.

Two voices are there; one is of the sea, One of the mountains: each a mighty Voice.

...one interior life in which all beings live with God, themselves are God, existing in the mighty whole, indistinguishable as the cloudless east is from the cloudless west, when all the hemisphere is one cerulean blue.

Wisdom married to immortal verse.