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 pinely 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 pinely 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.
