When all my five and country senses see，

　　The fingers will forget green thumbs and mark

　　How， through the halfmoon's vegetable eye，

　　Husk of young stars and handfull zodiac，

　　Love in the frost is pared and wintered by，

　　The whispering ears will watch love drummed away

　　Down breeze and shell to a discordant beach，

　　And， lashed to syllables， the lynx tongue cry

　　That her fond wounds are mended bitterly.

　　My nostrils see her breath burn like a bush.

　　My one and noble heart has witnesses

　　In all love's countries， that will grope awake；

　　And when blind sleep drops on the spying senses，

　　The heart is sensual， though five eyes break.