No More Learning

. .
Give me more songs like David's to shake my throat to the pit of the
belly,
And let me roll in the Isaiah thunder. . . .

Ho! the mightiest of our young men was born under a star in the
midwinter. . . .
His name is written on the sun and it is frosted on the moon. . . .
Earth breathes him like an eternal spring: he is a second sky over
the Earth.

Mighty race! mighty race! --my flesh, my flesh
Is a cup of song,
Is a well in Asia. . . .
I go about with a dark heart where the Ages sit in a divine
thunder. . . .
My blood is cymbal-clashed and the anklets of the dancers tinkle
there. . . .
Harp and psaltery, harp and psaltery make drunk my spirit.