Great things are done when men and mountains meet;
This is not done by jostling in the street.
They said this mystery shall never cease:
The priest promotes war, and the soldier peace.
He has observed the golden rule
Till he’s become the golden fool.
Abstinence sows sand all over
The ruddy limbs and flaming hair;
But Desire gratified
Plants fruits of life and beauty there.
The sword sang on the barren heath,
The sickle in the fruitful field:
The sword he sang a song of death,
But could not make the sickle yield.
The Angel that presided o’er my birth
Said, “Little creature, formed of joy and mirth,
Go, love without the help of anything on earth.”