Archers are muscular, to the extent
That balm measures efficiency and blue
Is gloomy in the summertime, or Lent.
Cream is balm to the dark—blue, minus hue.
Moses, go down with Ed, fish for ointment,
Or paste. What Wordsworth said about Springtime—
Goats and lambs (more or less), born heavensent,
Bounding to the tabor’s sound,* Nature’s rhyme.
Low on Zodiacal tree, the symbols
Run slack over Rams and Jacks, who bear yokes,
While the high rabbit rips as he rumbles.
Rub dragon’s egg, shred thimble, tell no jokes.
This is the Second Coming, Noon Darkness.
Blue without hue, we hear cries of madness.
*Wordsworth, Ode: Intimations of Immortality from Recollections of early Childhood
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