When I marvel at the greatest mystery,
The greatest miracle; I often think
These eyes, which countless pleasant sights will drink,
Were formed so I be seen and also see;
These words that flow so sweet and lightsomely
Between us should, like ghosts, to nothing sink,
If we merely spoke and sang because we speak.
In each of us there is a melody
That must be sung in chorus: every voice,
So perfectly unique, is from its place
A mirror to the rest. Yet why rejoice
At the song and soul behind a smiling face –
Why love? Why have we this eternal Power,
If we do not transcend the mortal hour?
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