Nature is a temple. The columns are
Alive and sometimes vaguely seem to talk;
There are symbols in the forests where we walk
That watch us, and they seem familiar.

As echoes in the distance come together
Mysteriously and merge and sound as one,
Vast as night and shining like the dawn,
Perfumes, colors, sounds speak to each other.

There are perfumes fresh as the flesh of an infant,
As soft as oboes, green as a prairie,
--And others corrupt, rich, and triumphant,

Expanding as things do in infinity,
Like amber, musk, benjamin, and incense,
Singing the ecstasies of spirit and sense.