There is nothing false in thee.
In thy heat the youngest body
Has warmth and light.
In thee the quills of the sun
Find adornment.
What does not die
Is with thee.
Thou art clothed in robes of music.
Thy voice awakens wings.
And still more with thee
Are the flowers of earth made bright.
Upon thy deeps the fiery sails
of heaven glide.
Thou art the radiance and the joy.
Thy heart shall only fail
When all else has fallen.
What does not perish
lives in thee.
Kenneth Patchen
