O sweet spontaneous


O sweet spontaneous
earth how often have
the
doting


fingers of
prurient philosophers pinched
and
poked


thee
, has the naughty thumb
of science prodded
thy


beauty . how
often have religions taken
thee upon their scraggy knees
squeezing and


buffeting thee that thou mightest conceive
gods
(but
true


to the incomparable
couch of death thy
rhythmic
lover


thou answerest


them only with


spring)