Garden of My Heart

I have walked on these outer paths so long
I have forgotten what it is to love.
I have heard the crickets and the birdsong
With ears that slowly faint and are deafened.
Within me, my swift heart has turned leaden.

I must return to the garden of my heart;
I must return to where bright streams flow.
There, soft silver-spun trees and blue flowers glow,
From the trees and flowers of the world set apart.
I am at home there, in that small garden.

Small-but oh! it is all the world to me!
There I can spiral inward until I reach a room
Composed of the arching branches of trees,
Cooled by a soft and silver-spun breeze,
Filled with the deep sweetness of rosy perfume.

There, it does not matter if the sun shines;
I am still drunk on the richest of wines,
Intoxicated by the power and the play of the wind,
Intoxicated by the sun that shines within me,
The light and the play of the wind light and free.

There, in the garden, I can take my rest,
And know myself folded upon a mother's breast,
For in the garden nothing can come near or harm
That I do not call in, that I do not permit.
There, the stars shine; there, there is no storm.