Man Thou Never Wert

Man thou never wert Hallowed room wherein the house Was troubled by his touch Indented deeply was the couch In mind, but not by such Fashioned of ravings unpretentious The oily midnight herds drew nigh To fodder of visionings well-tended But only unharnessed horses fly- Stirrings of drear self-symphonies Gave birth, to more sterile seed 'Let's give him blue empathy for eyes' How comely indeed! Come, let us give our hearts to the dirt Open soft earth, and dig And drain, and hang it up to dry Then shrink till nothing fit The golden god once more must die And none on golden thrones shall sit.