How much of Godhood did it take --
   What purging epochs had to pass,
Ere I was fit for leaf and lake
   And worthy of the patient grass?

What mighty travails must have been,
   What ages must have moulded me,
Ere I was raised and made akin
   To dawn, the daisy and the sea.

In what great struggles was I felled,
   In what old lives I labored long,
Ere I was given a world that held
   A meadow, butterflies and Song?

But oh, what cleansings and what fears,
   What countless raisings from the dead,
Ere I could see Her, touched with tears,
   Pillow the little weary head.