Is there a serenity of the highest emotions,
Amid the storming thunder-heads
A single, golden cloud? This would be the water-
Lily, the cypress who floats in the pond,
The amber trunk of the rising sun
Not seen by reflections
But in them
As the radiance of their imminent music,
Which is not the harp,
But a ratio of the highest strings,
Mathematics for melody, or rather
Their geometries' expression in an everyday life
That bisects the unseen, that vague old drone
Who hums.
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