Dies Dominica! the sunshine burns strong incense on the breathing fields of morn: lucid, intense, all colour towards it yearns that souls of flowers on the air are born. What claustral joy to-day is on the air —expanding now and one with the celebrant sun—- and fills with pointed flame all things aware, all flowers and souls that sing—and I am one! Dies Dominica! the passion yearns, and the world and the singer is but one flower from out whose luminous chalice odour burns intenser toward the blue thro’ this keen hour: —this hour is my eternity! the soul rises, expanding ever, with the sight, thro’ flowers and colours, and the visible whole of beauty mingled in one dream of light.SourceThe script ran 0.001 seconds.
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