The ancient sun is close again, and this youthful one is drawn to raise his lips, to exchange a kiss for the gentle blessing of Spring, which lay upon us like a lover upon his beloved. 

The boy-rose approaches the man-sun; the soft and new rises beneath the strong and gentle; where this will go no one knows.  And where it goes is not the point.  This interval of passion is the only place, the eternal moment, the source of power.  To avert our eyes and deny its truth is to imperil connection with reality. 

No such incident was ever contemplated.  And never was such intensity observed, even from a safe distance.  And here we discover ourselves the very focus of that event; no wonder we cry, and shake with fear, and deny it's real.  No wonder we try to put the whole world in a box.