Dies Dominica! the sunshine burns

strong incense on the breathing fields of morn:

lucid, intense, all colour towards it yearns

that souls of flowers on the air are born.

What claustral joy to-day is on the air

— expanding now and one with the celebrant sun —

and fills with pointed flame all things aware,

all flowers and souls that sing — and I am one!

Dies Dominica! the passion yearns,

and the whole world and singer is but one flower

from out whose luminous chalice odour burns

intenser toward the blue thro’ this keen hour:

— this hour is my eternity! the soul

rises, expanding ever, with the sight,

thro’ flowers and colours, and the visible whole

of beauty mingled in one dream of light.

 

1894