Correspondences

Nature is a temple where living pillars Sometimes let out confused words; Man passes there through forests of symbols Which observe him with familiar glances.

Like long echoes that in the distance are mingled In a unity dark and deep, Vast as the night and as the light, Perfumes, sounds, and colors correspond.

There are perfumes as cool as the flesh of children, Sweet as oboes, green as meadows — And others, corrupt, rich and triumphant,

Having the expansion of infinite things, Like amber, musk, benjamin, and incense, Which sing of the ecstasies of the mind and senses.