For one last glimpse,
oh goddess of fire —
the same burnt amber
glowing out of thee
though burns the body,
sets his soul free.
The mortal arises
from his funeral pyre!
But could He, the pure,
remain in high alter
when the orange blossoms
at his temple flare
Alas! the divine himself
lost in praise ’n prayer
The awe of his self-creation
makes him falter.
