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578
FIVE POEMS
II
O sweet spontaneous
earth how often have
the
doting
fingers of
prurient philosophies pinched
and
poked
thee
has the naughty thumb
of science prodded
thy
beautyhow
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
