“Where is heaven? you ask me, my child,-the sages tell us it is beyond the limits of birth and death, unswayed by the rhythm of day and night; it is not of the earth
But your poet knows that its eternal hunger is for time and space, and it strives evermore to be born in the fruitful dust
Heaven is fulfilled in your sweet body, my child, in your palpitating heart
The sea is beating its drums in joy, the flowers are a-tiptoe to kiss you. For heaven is born in you, in the arms of the mother-dust.”