The seed-at-zero shall not storm

　　That town of ghosts， the trodden womb，

　　With her rampart to his tapping，

　　No god-in-hero tumble down

　　Like a tower on the town

　　Dumbly and divinely stumbling

　　Over the manwaging line.

　　The seed-at-zero shall not storm

　　That town of ghosts， the manwaged tomb

　　With her rampart to his tapping，

　　No god-in-hero tumble down

　　Like a tower on the town

　　Dumbly and divinely leaping

　　Over the warbearing line.

　　Through the rampart of the sky

　　Shall the star-flanked seed be riddled¹，

　　Manna for the rumbling² ground，

　　Quickening for the riddled sea；

　　Settled on a virgin³ stronghold

　　He shall grapple with the guard

　　And the keeper of the key.

　　May a humble⁴ village labour

　　And a continent deny？

　　A hemisphere may scold him

　　And a green inch be his bearer；

　　Let the hero seed find harbour，

　　Seaports⁵ by a drunken shore

　　Have their thirsty sailors hide him.

　　May be a humble planet labour

　　And a continent deny？

　　A village green may scold him

　　And a high sphere be his bearer；

　　Let the hero seed find harbour，

　　Seaports by a thirsty shore

　　Have their drunken sailors hide him.

　　Man-in-seed， in seed-at-zero，

　　From the foreign fields of space，

　　Shall not thunder on the town

　　With a star-flanked garrison⁶，

　　Nor the cannons⁷ of his kingdom

　　Shall the hero-in-tomorrow

　　Range on the sky-scraping place.

　　Man-in-seed， in seed-at-zero，

　　From the star-flanked fields of space，

　　Thunders on the foreign town

　　With a sand-bagged garrison，

　　Nor the cannons of his kingdom

　　Shall the hero-in-to-morrow

　　Range from the grave-groping place.

 

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