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First Line: Nature is a temple whose living spires
Last Line: Where the transport of the soul and the senses sings.


Nature is a temple whose living spires
Send mingled words at times upon the air;
Man journeys through a wood of symbols there
That kindle, as he goes, with friendly fires.

As long-drawn echoes in a far-off bond
Blend in a deep and shadowed unity,
Vast as the night and as vast clarity,
Color and sound and fragrance correspond.

Some perfumes are as fresh as the cheek of a child,
Sweet as the hautboy, as the meadow green,
Others are triumphant, rich, defiled,

With all the expansion of infinite things,
Of amber, incense, musk, and benzoin,
Where the transport of the soul and the senses sings.





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