At The Gateway of America You tossed the I-Ching and I the servant of the master entered out of the door with you. I laughed, and knew again of trees and grass and human warmth. You, Who played and were anew the breath of awed perception, Oh Beauty-of-Narcissus-Bloom Holding that single stock be one with the uncluttered simplicity-of-spring; While I As an unobstructed flow Am mingled with my Mother the mud the earth and sky.