"Above the lake in the valley and the grove along the hillside, high over the sea

and the passing clouds, and even past the sun!

To the farthest confines of the starry vault

mount, my spirit, wander at your ease

and range exultant through transparent space

like a rugged swimmer reveling in the waves

with an unutterable male delight.

Ascend beyond the sickly atmosphere *

to a higher plane, and purify yourself

by drinking as if it were ambrosia

the fire that fills and fuels Emptiness.

Free from the futile striving and the cares

which dim existence to a realm of mist,

happy is he who wings an upward way

on mighty pinions to the fields of light;

whose thoughts like larks spontaneously rise

into the morning sky; whose flight, unchecked,

outreaches life and readily comprehends

the language of flowers and of all mute things.

- Charles Baudelaire, Elevation

* in some translations, rendered as "miasma"