Under the Hammer of God

The hour of chrysanthemum's arrives

And the languorous display of Autumn gold.

I have no recollection of past lives

But in my body feel the ancient cold

Pressing on these brisk and short-lived days.

I am still trying under the hammer of God

Beneath his fashioned stars and quickened moon

To let him mould this dense resistant clod

To heightened beauty and the heart attune

To bliss and set the aspiring soul ablaze.