Then, like an unknotted sling of flame,
All that you dumbly were you dizzily became:
Shock of the blood hurdling for beauty, beauty!
Roots on edge with April, biting up through stark earth-bone!
And the great crushed smell creeping out of the rain … vaguely known …
Yet fiercely familiar: remembered reek of things just turning fruity;
Scent of rapid and black gold, water and stone!

Bats will go floundering at dusk; the loon
Dive down the rickety staircase of the moon
Scissoring lake water; herons will flap over
Blue, glinting turquoise. … O Night Appassionata, you are
Warm reeds and resinous wood choked with a beating star!
You are terribly beautiful! You are Lazarus, after the cover
Had lifted, staring at Christ! … He had come far! …