Foster the light nor veil the manshaped moon，
Nor weather winds that blow not down the bone，
But strip the twelve-winded marrow1 from his circle；
Master the night nor serve the snowman's brain
That shapes each bushy item of the air
Into a polestar pointed2 on an icicle.
Murmur3 of spring nor crush the cockerel's eggs，
Nor hammer back a season in the figs4，
But graft5 these four-fruited ridings on your country；
Farmer in time of frost the burning leagues，
By red-eyed orchards6 sow the seeds of snow，
In your young years the vegetable century.
And father all nor fail the fly-lord's acre，
Nor sprout7 on owl-seed like a goblin-sucker，
But rail with your wizard's ribs8 the heart-shaped planet；
Of mortal voices to the ninnies' choir9，
High lord esquire， speak up the singing cloud，
And pluck a mandrake music from the marrowroot.
Roll unmanly over this turning tuft，
O ring of seas， nor sorrow as I shift
From all my mortal lovers with a starboard smile；
Nor when my love lies in the cross-boned drift
Naked among the bow-and-arrow birds
Shall you turn cockwise on a tufted axle.
Who gave these seas their colour in a shape，
Shaped my clayfellow， and the heaven's ark
In time at flood filled with his coloured doubles；
O who is glory in the shapeless maps，
Now make the world of me as I have made
A merry manshape of your walking circle.
