We will be conscious of our sanctity
    That ripens as we develop
    Our rods and substantial centres,
    Our branches and holy leaves
    On the edge beyond your reach;
    We will remark upon the size
    Of our roots,
    Beautiful roots
    Because they are under the surface
    Or our charm.
    Give us the pleasure of regret;
    Our tears sound wiser
    Than our laughter at the air
    Or the yellow linnet who does not merit it.
    We will be conscious of our divinity
    When the time comes
    Unashamed but not with delight,
    Making our affections fast;
    We will tie you down
    To one sense of finality
    Like a cave with one thread.
    Under this shade
    The kingfisher comes
    And the fresh-water bird
    With his pink beak,
    But we do not concern ourselves,
    Waiting, waiting,
    Waiting for the bird who shall say,
    'I have come to elevate you,
    To saw through your roots
    And let you float.'
    Then we will rise
    Upon broad wings
    And go into the air,
    Burrow our way upwards into the blue sky;
    This shade
    Has the dragonfly and the swordfish
    Cleaving their own sedges,
    The otter
    Hand in hand with the mermaid
    Creeping catlike under the water.
    We will be conscious
    Of a new country
    Opening in the blind cloud over our heads;
    We will be conscious of a great divinity
    And a wide sanity