THE ROSE PRESS
I saw the tracks of angels in the earth,
The beauty of heaven walking by itself on the world
Joke or sorrow now,
It seems a dream, shadow or smoke
I saw a kind of rain that made the sun ashamed
And heard her, speaking sad words,
Make mountains shift, the rivers stop.
Love, wisdom, valor, pity, pain
Made better harmony with weeping
Than any other to be heard in the world
And the air and the wind were so moved by this deep music
No single leaf stirred on its still branch.