Friday, September 05, 2008

from song of the rolling earth

weapon shapely, naked, wan,

head from the mother's bowels drawn
wooded flesh and metal bone, limb only one and lip only one,
gray-blue leaf by red-heat grown, helve produced from a little seed
resting the grass amid upon,
to be leaned and to lean on.
--actually, from Song of the Broad-Axe

open afresh your round of starry folds,
Ye ardent marigolds!
Dry up the moisture from your golden lids,
For great Apollo bids
That in these days your praises should be sung
On many harps, which he has lately strung;
And when again your dewiness he kisses,
Tell him, I have you in my world of blisses:
So haply when I rove in some far vale,
His mightly voice may come upon a gale.

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