PROLOGUE 
5 
From the poppy’s crimson cup, 
And the mountain’s hoary mass ; 
Sea and land are filled with song, 
God, whom we mistrusted long, 
We perceive to be a friend : 
Man at last with flower and tree, 
Bird and butterfly and bee, 
Earth and fire and air and sea, 
Will his voice divinely blend 
In a song, whose holy incense up to Heaven shall 
ascend 
And the souls that stand and shiver 
On the borders of the River, 
Shall their arms extend 
Unto Death as to a lover, knowing Death is not 
the End.