Instead of the heavens
Of love and feeling
That the aching soul
opened to your inspiration,
And instead of the hours
from oblivion to suffering
That your sweet and soft harp
owes to her heart.
Instead, our songs
and all that it contains,
Good and loving,
our soul and our being ...
And instead of our flowers,
the flowers of this land,
Your nest is like that of a lark,
your altar as a woman.