The every sorrow scorned upon a man
That we would rise familiar with joy,
With merryness uncoming of our sufferings,
With grounding in each ugly squall and thrash,
For gladness there is death to death,
Eve's seed surmounting joy to joy!

Such varied and beloved saints,
Walk with me in haphazard rise,
Pearly bared teeth and joyous bounds,
Upturned lips, wise wrinkled eyes,
That swallow me in faithful love,
That mark a kinship cutting through,
The deepest differences to find,
A wounded king that bridges to,
Such varied and beloved saints.

Running round in sophisticated circles,
Not like mere cat and doggery,
We have spinning arms and chains,
With bars to hold,
And bars to fly on,
Stepping a pace and a half and off,
The pivoting arm rises up diagonal,
And we fly for paces many,
Grounded before we grow new wings,
And run around in sophisticated circles.