Nature is a temple where living pillars
sometimes whisper confused words;
people pass through a forest of symbols
that look at them with knowing eyes.
Like resonant echoes far in the distance
in a dark and profound unity,
vast like the night and as clear as light,
perfumes, colors, and sounds answer.
There are perfumes as fresh as baby flesh,
as soft as oboes, as green as prairies,
—and others, corrupt, rich, and triumphant,
able to expand into infinities,
like amber, or music, or resins, and incense,
that sing the transport of the spirit and the senses.