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Life were the ascent toward one ideal,

Sisyphus' toil, broken only

In the stillness of sleep and in those moments,

Before prayer, when the mind should clear

And loose of its association ;

Life were such process, given avowal,

Given clean lacklove, word bound in trust ;

So sober a song come over

All, nothing any longer could be forced.

He thought thus, when the snow fell

And the grounds sterilised,

Walking down from the chapel where branches

Lay strewn across the path,

Costing himself though

Regions of metaphysic, led by his pluming breath

Into clarity.

Each child before their Lord kneel,

Each Lord dance within their orbis. Roundelay!

Element pass into element, cadence into cadence.

Faint music out of adjoining

Quarters. An hour passes so. The snow falls.

He waits, temperately, for the curtain to gather

Into dark heights, for the

Allappertaining to allume, and the action procede

Cathedralwise. Organwhite melody, limpid bloom.

The leaves are votive, where

Remaining : Grün in Rot in Blau in Violett in Gelb.