But the blackbird hung peeking at will;。，Her light is our own if we list.
Our animal tangle, and grasp。，Our earth of mirth
For service over land and sea.。，
I walked to observe, not to feel,。，When the hand that never had failed
。，And then will men
Had hailed it pure of the pure;。，Convenience pricked conscience, that the mind.
。，The house of heaven splendid for the bride.
Her morn bends breast to her noon,。，Shall man into the mystery of breath,
Having mastered sensation--insane。，She is moveless. Not of her breast
Except to unriddle a rune;。，As flower-bush in sun-specked crag,
The calm of an empty room.。，With devil, with angel more dire;
Yet a presence throbbing alive;。，Sits on the grave green-grassed,
But the young ethereal seed。，Finds nought in his hand save Earth.
。，To jar unanswered, shall rise
The tree of me,。，Not needing a studious brow,
Crumbs by the way to sustain.。，They waken waves of thoughts that burst to foam:
With all of their past and the now,。，As a fountain-jet in the mind
，Here feathers wings for beyond:。，If men had risen to do the work of heads.