. . . and there will be weeping as the saints acknowledge the fresh vision. It is that which startles even the children. It turned their music to money and their books to bankruptcy. It is the unbound. It is the dream that has been realized.
. . . and smile at the great playwright, for in his mind was the vision first made. It is to him that we can give thanks. It will be easy to smile, yes: It will. It is not for you to ask if you are, meanwhile, a slave.
. . . and as you smile, a shiver runs down your spine as his shadow falls over you. It is darkness that you feel, and yet: It is light that you see. It surely is a great mystery. It is best to remember: It is only a shiver.
. . . and the light is so brilliant! It cannot be put down -- not like a sun that sets. It rises ever higher. It is midday, but: It is growing brighter, and: It is growing hotter.
. . . and the children are in love. It burns in their hearts. It burns in their heads. It turns dirt into gold dust, which is the medium of the children's fancy.
. . . and the shadow is warm. It is an oasis in a desert. It is a bowl of glistening fruit. It is a vibrant smile that can be found only in eyes. It is a young Venus wearing a shirt cut low and a skirt cut high. It is a blue ocean. It is a new friend with a fast car. It is a
first kiss, and: It is the last.
. . . and: It is said to be a work of art.
. . . and there will be gnashing of teeth as the saints acknowledge the fresh vision.