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All faith lies at the bottom of our love, Joining an ardent thought to everything: The faint awakening blossom, or above Downward the drift of petals from a rose; The flight of bird on dark or sun-lit wing; A nest half-falling from a roof that knows Much of the wind's harsh manner--here is scope-- And in the flowery heart where insects cling, For fear, and all of hope.

What matters it if reason with its snows Falls chilling on such poignant ecstasy? Let us accept it with a mind that knows No false, no true, no evil and no good That it may hold prophetically; Let us be happy with our childish eyes, Be it an evil or triumphant power; And let us hide from men who are too wise.