Upon the earth,
And bees and little flower bells still their mirth
And jasmines whisp'ring of her starry eyes.
And Atmâ spoke, with love and wonder bold,
"Tread I the valley where the fadeless vine
Drops dew immortal and sweet spices grow
From fragrant roots which in that blessed mould,
Watered by tears of penitential woe,
Drank deep of primal peace and balm divine,