From that high spire, he cast his gaze below,
Where valleys sprawled in semiotic sleep;
He saw the hidden currents ebb and flow,
The secrets that the verdant forests keep.
No longer merely timber, leaf, and loam,
The world was a congeries of bright signs;
Each cottage hearth, each spire, and every dome
Was etched in gold and geometric lines.
The common clay was suddenly imbued
With qualities of the empyrean fire;
A cosmic pulse, a sacred magnitude,
Transfigured every sorrow and desire.
The map of Earth was redrawn in his mind,
With legends only the transformed could find.
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