L'envoi

Seek not for me within a tomb; You shall not find me in the clay! I pierce a little wall of gloom To mingle with the Day! I brothered with the things that pass, Poor giddy Joy and puckered Grief; I go to brother with the Grass And with the sunning Leaf. Not Death can sheathe me in a shroud; A joy-sword whetted keen with pain, I join the armies of the Cloud, The Lightning and the Rain. O subtle in the sap athrill, Athletic in the glad uplift, A portion of the Cosmic Will, I pierce the planet-drift. My God and I shall interknit As rain and Ocean, breath and Air; And O, the luring thought of it Is prayer!