how short a day might be if some marble ran 'round the other if some spiral spun willy-ways; instead, this marvelous mandala a time to break fast, to plant seed, time for a birth, a leaping how cold a night might be if some noble star lost his crown if he lain down, sword too heavy in princely retirement; instead, a blanket of blinking hallowers, figures of all antiquity extant, lovers at war, parents of plenty, all our gods wrapped round our dreams Oh Nova! Oh Sun! Oh God!