The eternal Awakener of lovely spring
Has waked all the earth, and hearts and birds and flowers sing.

We the Love Street pavement poets do not lag behind
In praise—praise is our sickle through the garden of mind.

When the garden is desolate of all but one flower,
In that flower’s heart we are discerning the wineshop door.

With foreheads on the doorstep we hold up cups to him,
Our Master, to fill or not at his pleasure and whim.

Who, or what, should we hymn but the one from whom was born
(At his whim) men, green earth and white suns in the first dawn?

He transmuted love’s tears into dew and stone into fire,
Hearts into song-light and light into holy desire.

Now flowers and birds and hearts of springtime earth awake and sing
To the beloved Awakener of eternal spring.


All nature sings in praise of the creator. But things are rather different in Love Street where praise is not making growth and abundance but is rather a sickle, cutting down all attachments that are choking our hearts.

When the precious bloom of truth is alone left then we see at last the threshold of the Beloved’s door.

Love Street dwellers praise the One, the Beloved, rather than the creation. This is the very essence of true being and of love.

This is a beautiful hymn to the transmuter and sustainer. The miracle of creation goes far beyond the instinctive response to sensory beauty. Here is the response of our hearts to the intoxicating bliss of the encounter with He who is us and also the one reality. It is the real romance of life.

For the most part of these poems the four beats to a line provides both regularity and variety, a certain mathematical precision and discipline but with fluid musical grace as well. Perhaps I am being fanciful but try reading this with six beats a line. Then what happens to the short first and last lines? They can be read very slowly and forcefully with beats on syllables not normally stressed. 

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