Wide-eyed into the mountains’ windy hush,

Among the green and healing hills

I have found Celia.

For the morning fills

With her and afternoon and twilight. She is always there

As sweet within me as the intimate air.

We are together still in the deep solitude

Which is the essence of all companies,

Not in its loneliness but in its brood

Of presences, the dawn chanting with birds, the trees

Translating unremembered memories

Of the returning dead.

And Celia, who has learned to die,

Is well aware—and so through her am I—

That, one by one interpreted,

All hopes and pains and powers

Are hers and mine to try

On every star, through every age.

.... And, still together, on this page

We quote the sun-dial of the sage:

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