That rules from wrist to shoulder，
Unpacks the head that， like a sleepy ghost，
Leans on my mortal ruler，
The proud spine spurning turn and twist.
And these poor nerves so wired to the skull
Ache on the lovelorn paper
I hug to love with my unruly scrawl
That utters all love hunger
And tells the page the empty ill.
My hero bares my side and sees his heart
Tread； like a naked Venus，
The beach of flesh， and wind her bloodred plait；
Stripping my loin of promise，
He promises a secret heat.
He holds the wire from this box of nerves
Praising the mortal error
Of birth and death， the two sad knaves of thieves，
And the hunger's emperor；
He pulls that chain， the cistern moves.