It is to weave
the cloth
with threads
drawn from
your heart,
even as if
your beloved
were to wear
that cloth.

It is to build
a house
with affection,
even as if
your beloved
were to dwell
in that house.

It is to sow
seeds
with tenderness
and reap
the harvest
with joy,
even as if
your beloved
were to eat
the fruit.

It is to charge
all things you fashion
with a breath 
of your own spirit.

And to know
that all
the blessed dead
are standing
about you
and watching.

Often
have I heard
you say,
as if speaking
in sleep,
~He who works
in marble,
and finds
the shape
of his own soul
in the stone, 
is nobler
than he
who ploughs
the soil.~

~And he
who seizes
the rainbow
to lay it
on a cloth
in the likeness
of man,
is more than
he who makes
the sandals 
for our feet.~

But I say,
not in sleep, 
but in
the overwakefulness
of noontide,
that the wind
speaks not
more sweetly
to the giant oaks
than to
the least of all
the blades of grass.

And he alone
is great
who turns
the voice
of the wind 
into a song
made sweeter
by his own
loving.

And if you
cannot work
with love
but only
with distaste,
it is better that
you should leave
your work
and sit
at the gate
of the temple
and take alms
of those who work
with joy.

For if you bake
bread
with indifference,
you bake
a bitter bread
that feeds
but half man`s
hunger.

And if you grudge
the crushing
of the grapes,
your grudge
distils a poison
in the wine.

And if you sing
though as angels,
and love not
the singing,
you muffle
man`s ears
to the  voices
of the day
and the voices
of the night.