What I have purest in me: sleep
traversed by old dreams,
what you have purest in you: timber
tree with green ears.
What I have most hidden in me:
blood stirring a thought;
what you have purest in you:
the odour in deep earth inwrought.
And oh, what I have sacred, pure flame:
your sweet earth, dreamlike and free,
and all that is in you the name
of fruit from an apricot-tree.
All, all that stands for veracity
in your embrace is averred,
blossoming bough of an apple-tree
with a wonder bird.
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