O Do Not Weep, She Says, For

The Elixir Of Life, The Philosopher's Stone Is Yours If You Surrender Sterile Logic, Trivial Reason.

Every Concrete Object Has Abstract Value, Is Timeless In The Dream Parallel.

There Must Be Real Gods See, The Painted Gods How Fair!

Let Love Step Down, Open The Clasped Hands, Forfeit The Thorny Crown, Retrieve The Garment That Was Whole, Body And Spirit One, Spirit And Soul.

O Happy, Happy Each Man Whom Predestined Fate Leads To The Holy Rite Of Hill And Mountain Worship.