Incense of Flowers

This rich abundance of the rose, its breath
On which I almost think my soul could live,
This sweet ambrosia, which even in death
Its leaves hold on to give.

Whence is it? From dank earth or scentless air?

Or from the inner sanctuaries of heaven?
We probe the branch, the root — no incense there —
O God, whence is it given?

Is it the essence of the morning dew.
Or distillation of a purer sphere —
The breath of the immortals coming through
To us immortals here?

Exquisite mystery, my heart devours
The living inspiration, and I know
Sweet revelations with the breath of flowers
Into our beings flow.