"It is as you have said. But look again."
From the top of a tree where a turtle-dove had built her nest a downy white feather fell soaring and eddying to the water.
And the poet cried:
"Dear angel! Is not this white down, my mother's gentle purity?"
And the divine spirit answered:
"It is as you have said."
A light breeze ruffled the water and made the leaves rustle.
The poet asked:
"Is not that the grave sweet voice of my father?"
And the spirit answered: