O Thou transcendent,
Nameless, the fibre and the breath,
Light of the light, shedding forth universes, thou centre of them,
Thou mightier centre of the true, the good, the loving,
Thou moral spiritual fountain—affection’s source—thou reservoir . . .
The one moment while
the light was still young
and the morning unmarred . . .
We set sail toward the sun,
our white clothes silvered,
shimmering with newborn love
and oranges rolled in the galley.
The mast was a tower of knightly virtue
and the seasons loved winter for
its snowy bounty,
our hair, blowing in the sea.
The waves of salt
are in keeping with our gold medallion,
the rim of the world,
a far-away ideal
and casted tide driving the shore.
Purple tempests and green orchards,
sun-swept valleys and porcelain dogwood.
Sweet soul, in remembrance
for in worship, the light grows brighter,
noon prevails, and an isle appears.
Over indifference, we hear your salt waves
and with the train of foam,
we are brought near.
When we shall, married, fast;
we shall, in hunger, kiss.