The tenderness, the dignity of souls

Sweetens our cheated gusto and consoles.

It shades love’s lidless eyes like parasols

And tames the earthquake licking at our soles.

Retunes the tensions of the flesh we wear.

Forgives the dissonance our triumphs blare.

And maps the burrows of heart’s buried lair

Where furtive furry Wishes hide like moles.

O hear the kind voice, hear it everywhere

(It sings, it sings, it conjures and cajoles)

Prompting us shyly in our half-learnt roles.

It sprouts the great chromatic vine that lolls

In small black petals on our music scrolls

(It flares, it flowers—it quickens yet controls)

It teaches dance-steps to this uncouth bear

Who hops and stumbles in our skin and howls.

The weight that tortures diamonds out of coals

Is lighter than the skimming hooves of foals

Compared to one old heaviness our souls

Hoist daily, each alone, and cannot share:

To-be-awake, to sense, to-be-aware.

Then even the dusty dreams that clog our skulls,

The rant and thunder of the storm we are,

The sunny silences our prophets hear,

The rainbow of the oil upon the shoals,

The crimes and Christmases of creature-lives,

And all pride’s barefoot tarantelle on knives

Are but man’s search for dignity of souls.