Nature is a temple where living pillars
At times allow confused words to come forth:
There man passes through forests of symbols
Which observe him with familiar eyes.

Like long echoes which in a distance are mingled
In a dark and profound unison
Vast as night is and light,
Perfumes, colors and sounds answer one another.

There are perfumes as cool as the flesh of children,
Sweet as oboes, green as parries
-And others, corrupt, rich and triumphant,
Having the expansion of infinite things,
Like amber, musk, myrrh and incense,
Which sing of the transports of the mind and the senses.

Charles Baudelaire, Correspondences (via nuclearharvest)