Rodin in Rime

LA MAIN DE DIEU HE Hand. From mystery that is cloud control The mystery that is emptiness of air Purpose and power. What blossom do they bear? Stability and strength inform—what soul? Turn to me, love! the banks of air are soft. We are so safe; so happy we: Turn to me, love! the skies are blue, Our love can never falter; fate can never close Fleeced with the clouds that hang aloft, Hard on the flower of land and sea. Buds that may blossom into dew. Lift, O rose petals of my rose, Toward me, rest, dream on, we are here, we love. Turn to me, love! lie close and breathe There 18 no shadow above, The smooth waves of the wind! No ghost below: we are here. Kiss! Kise! The zephyr in thy locks I'll wreathe, For ever. Who would have believed, have thought The breeze entwined. of this? Outside is nothing. Let what will uproll, Within all’s certain. Are we not aware | (Who see the hand) what brain must know—and care? What wisdom formed the racers, find a goal? Careless and confident, let us love on. Life, one or many, rises from a seed, Sprouts, blooms, bears fruit, and then is gone—is gone. Let go the future, ominous and vast! Loose the bound mind from the unavailing past! Live, love for ever, now, in every deed! ol