Per Cristo Gesu
When, in the strawy beams of evening,
The Sun does build her nest,
To brood upon the secrets of night,
And the sway and swing of seasons,
And how the years, and all things in them,
Run to God, their End and Absolute,
Whose Love, whose plan, no evil mars,
I my high poetry conclude, whose threads
And themes were fully spun to praise the Love
That moves the Sun and the other stars.
Oakland and Valyermo
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