And eventually he achieved it —
It was clay.
Now this is the strange part:
When the man went to the earth
And looked again,
Lo, there was the ball of gold.
Now this is the strange part:
It was a ball of gold.
Aye, by the heavens, it was a ball of gold.
Nor the wishes of my heart.Then suddenly there was a great light —‘Let me into the darkness again.’
And clash and clash of hoof and heel,Wild shouts and the wave of hairIn the rush upon the wind:Thus the ride of sin.
A burning candle, and an ass.
Alive with little froth-peopleSinging.To the sailor, wrecked,The sea was dead grey wallsSuperlative in vacancy,Upon which nevertheless at fateful timeWas writtenThe grim hatred of nature.
Had marked the rise of his agony –This lone hunter.The grey-green woods impassiveHad watched the threshing of his limbs.A canoe with flashing paddle,A girl with soft searching eyes,A call: ‘John!’. . . . . . . . . . . .Come, arise, hunter!Can you not hear?The chatter of a death-demon from a tree-top.
Is made of pounds,Dollars or francs.Here I bear my palms for the silly nailsTo teach the lack—The great pain of lack—Of coin.
