In such a setting death appears with a smile ofhope:
f or springtime is a light veil over theface ofParadise,
and who ever an mise this veil canfind the Eternal One,
transported zuithin from this- to other-worldliness.
Let others complain how remote and difficult eternity is,
how impossible to attain: how can mey be concerned
who have journeyed in themselves and there attained'"
Let others complain how the world has shrunk and choked
in our confining age. Those who believe wulfind everywhere
spacious vuithout space: even as they gaze at birds and insects
drunk on spring air, themselves are dmnk on other perfumes
andstroll at ease in Paradise. What is death to them except
an interment ofseeds revived in that other spring, as here
revive exquisite, sweet-blossoming, fruit-promised trees?