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"They lie who say that nature lacks
The wonders and the wiles of art-
Her magic moons that wane and wax,
Her fiery stars that gleam and dart...
Most strange of flowers! I see thee grow,
Thy weird ambiguous horns outspread,
Thy yellow petals all aglow
On their blood coloured rocky bed!
Ah! Mother Nature....
Did you design for your own joy
These cliffs so soaked in rusty blood,
That spray that clings like a drowned boy,
These glaucous growths, this wrinkled mud?
Yet, yet! O Nature, artist rare,
We follow thee as Maenads chased
The wine-God, with wild-floating hair:
Thy symbol in our heart is placed...."
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