Sacred Incenses
The fragrance of the orange groves comes down
From paradise, whatever God you know.
A Christ, Ganesha—or an Allah frown . . .
Yes, even that—must carry with it glow
Of perfect redolence from heaven. White
Perfection flows out from the petals set
Amongst the darker gloss of leaves. The height
Of beauty reigns. This utterness is met
In god Ganesha’s mind with nutmeg’s scent,
That spicy warmth that floats from pumpkin pies,
And Allah in his evils might repent
When smell of basil leaves floats from the skies
Of Greece and Malabar, where gods came first,
More human gods who love each fragrant burst.