The force that through the green fuse drives the flower

    Drives my green age； that blasts the roots of trees

    Is my destroyer.

    And I am dumb to tell the crooked rose

    My youth is bent by the same wintry fever.

    The force that drives the water through the rocks

    Drives my red blood； that dries the mouthing streams

    Turns mine to wax.

    And I am dumb to mouth unto my veins

    How at the mountain spring the same mouth sucks.

    The hand that whirls the water in the pool

    Stirs the quicksand； that ropes the blowing wind

    Hauls my shroud sail.

    And I am dumb to tell the hanging man

    How of my clay is made the hangman's lime.

    The lips of time leech to the fountain head；

    Love drips and gathers， but the fallen blood

    Shall calm her sores.

    And I am dumb to tell a weather's wind

    How time has ticked a heaven round the stars.

    And I am dumb to tell the lover's tomb

    How at my sheet goes the same crooked worm.