Come, thrust your hands in the warm earth
And feel her strength through all your vains;
Breathe her full odors, taste her mouth
Which laughs away imagined pains;
Touch her life's womb, yet know
This substance makes your grave also
Shrink not; your flesh is no more sweet
Than flowers which daily blow and die;
Nor are your mein and dress so neat
Nor half so pure your lucid eye;
And, yet, by flowers and earth I swear
You're neat and pure and sweet and fair