The seed-at-zero shall not storm

That town of ghosts， the trodden womb，

With her rampart to his tapping，

No god-in-hero tumble down

Like a tower on the town

Dumbly and divinely stumbling

Over the manwaging line.

The seed-at-zero shall not storm

That town of ghosts， the manwaged tomb

With her rampart to his tapping，

No god-in-hero tumble down

Like a tower on the town

Dumbly and divinely leaping

Over the warbearing line.

Through the rampart of the sky

Shall the star-flanked seed be riddled，

Manna for the rumbling ground，

Quickening for the riddled sea；

Settled on a virgin stronghold

He shall grapple with the guard

And the keeper of the key.

May a humble village labour

And a continent deny？

A hemisphere may scold him

And a green inch be his bearer；

Let the hero seed find harbour，

Seaports by a drunken shore

Have their thirsty sailors hide him.

May be a humble planet labour

And a continent deny？

A village green may scold him

And a high sphere be his bearer；

Let the hero seed find harbour，

Seaports by a thirsty shore

Have their drunken sailors hide him.

Man-in-seed， in seed-at-zero，

From the foreign fields of space，

Shall not thunder on the town

With a star-flanked garrison，

Nor the cannons of his kingdom

Shall the hero-in-tomorrow

Range on the sky-scraping place.

Man-in-seed， in seed-at-zero，

From the star-flanked fields of space，

Thunders on the foreign town

With a sand-bagged garrison，

Nor the cannons of his kingdom

Shall the hero-in-to-morrow

Range from the grave-groping place.