The morning sun, at periods twice-yearly,
Selects my neighbor's house and deftly plays
Straight through both windows east and west, and clearly
Lights up the western lawn, and seems to raise
That house from realm of bulk—seems to remold
Its shape as avenue for weightless gold.
Let me perceive my neighbor's path to be
Throughout all seasons, in all ways, aligned
In such resplendent receptivity.
And more and more let man, the child of Mind,
Be recognized in Truth's forth-shining day
Not as transparency, but as the ray.
