I pray with mosses, ferns and flowers shy
That hide like gentle nuns from human eye,
To lift adoring odors to the sky.
I hear faint bridal-sighs of blissful green,
Dying to kindred silences serene,
As dim lights melt into a pleasant sheen.
I start at fragmentary whispers, blown
From undertalks of leafy loves unknown,
Vague purports sweet, of inarticulate tone.
Dreaming of gods, men, nuns and brides, between