When once the twilight¹ locks no longer

　　Locked in the long worm of my finger

　　Nor damned the sea that sped about my fist，

　　The mouth of time sucked， like a sponge，

　　The milky² acid on each hinge，

　　And swallowed dry the waters of the breast.

　　When the galactic sea was sucked

　　And all the dry seabed unlocked，

　　I sent my creature scouting³ on the globe，

　　That globe itself of hair and bone

　　That， sewn to me by nerve and brain，

　　Had stringed my flask⁴ of matter to his rib⁵.

　　My fuses are timed to charge his heart，

　　He blew like powder to the light

　　And held a little sabbath with the sun，

　　But when the stars， assuming shape，

　　Drew in his eyes the straws of sleep

　　He drowned his father's magics in a dream.

　　All issue armoured， of the grave，

　　The redhaired cancer still alive，

　　The cataracted eyes that filmed their cloth；

　　Some dead undid⁶ their bushy jaws⁷，

　　And bags of blood let out their flies；

　　He had by heart the Christ-cross-row of death.

　　Sleep navigates⁸ the tides of time；

　　The dry Sargasso of the tomb

　　Gives up its dead to such a working sea；

　　And sleep rolls mute above the beds

　　Where fishes' food is fed the shades

　　Who periscope⁹ through flowers to the sky.

　　When once the twilight screws were turned，

　　And mother milk was stiff as sand，

　　I sent my own ambassador to light；

　　By trick or chance he fell asleep

　　And conjured¹⁰ up a carcass shape

　　To rob me of my fluids in his heart.

　　Awake， my sleeper¹¹， to the sun，

　　A worker in the morning town，

　　And leave the poppied pickthank where he lies；

　　The fences of the light are down，

　　All but the briskest riders thrown

　　And worlds hang on the trees.