Across fields and mountains where rivers run
In the magic of human greatness, swift
Like a song, where unexpected days drift,
There orange and gold dazzle of the swan
Soars in its magnificence which none can
Glimpse but only he who with a prescient gift
Receives in his mortal eyes visions that lift
His deathfulness to the sight of the sun.

Winging day after day, from height to height
It brings to me a fire that sets aflame
Every bit of my smallness, the very cells
Opened to the chant of its love and light:
Whatever carries for me its joy, its name,
In it my soul orange-goldenly dwells.

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