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Poem	On days of fresh and tranquil health, when life is as fine as a conquest, the pleasant task sits down by my side like an honoured friend. He comes from gentle, radiant countries, with words brighter than the dews, in which to set, illuminating them, our feelings and our thoughts. He seizes our being in a mad whirlwind; he lifts up the mind on giant pilasters; he pours into it the fire that makes the stars live; he brings the gift of being God suddenly. And fevered transports and deep terrors— all serves his tragic will to make young again the blood of beauty in the veins of the world. I am at his mercy like a glowing prey. Therefore, when I return, though wearied and heavy, to the repose of your love, with the fires of my vast and supreme idea, it seems to me—oh! but for a moment—that I am bringing to you in my panting heart the heart-beat of the universe itself.
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