There is no greater passion than
for beauty --
Ecstasy distilled into a song --
Nor calling more exquisite than the duty
To make our own the truths for which we long.
Here's to you, then! And for what you've done
To be the muse who mirrors well our hearts,
Restoring the lone many to the one
Common love that underlies all arts.
O love of being, bearer of our pain!
Well might we praise the gardeners who bring
Our passions into bloom, that we again
Might hear the sunlit bird within us sing.
Long may you ply what practices you've learned,
Profiting all by artistry you've