Even as a bird sprays many-coloured fires,
The plumes of paradise, the dying light
Rays through the fevered air in misty spires
Â Â Â Â Â That vanish in the heights.
These myriad eyes that look on me are mine;
Wandering beneath them I have found again
The ancient ample moment, the divine,
Â Â Â Â Â The God-root within men.
For this, for this the lights innumerable
As symbols shine that we the true light win:
For every star and every deep they fillÂ Â Â Â Â
Â Â Â Â Â Are stars and deeps within.