The force that through the green fuse drives the flower
Drives my green age; that blasts the roots of trees
Is my destroyer.
And I am dumb to tell the crooked rose
My youth is bent by the same wintry fever.
The force that drives the water through the rocks
Drives my red blood; that dries the mouthing streams
Turns mine to wax.
And I am dumb to mouth unto my veins
How at the mountain spring the same mouth sucks.
The hand that whirls the water in the pool
Stirs the quicksand; that ropes the blowing wind
Hauls my shroud sail.
And I am dumb to tell the hanging man
How of my clay is made the hangman's lime.
The lips of time leech to the fountain head;
Love drips and gathers, but the fallen blood
Shall calm her sores.
And I am dumb to tell a weather's wind
How time has ticked a heaven round the stars.
And I am dumb to tell the lover's tomb
How at my sheet goes the same crooked worm.
See I am God.
See I am in all things.
See I do all things.
See I never lift my hands off my own works, nor ever shall, without end.
See I lead every thing to the end I ordained for it from without beginning with the same might, wisdom, and love that I made it.
How should anything be amiss?
Prayer for a dead loved one
May my love be the sheaths
That now surround you,
Cooling all fever,
Warming all coldness,
Interwoven with sacrifice.
Live, upheld by love,