And bumpkins throw their pence to shed
Aunt Sally’s crude-striped wooden head.
I do not care if men should throw
Round sun and moon to make me go,
(As bright as gold and silver pence) ...
They cannot drive their own blood hence!
XIV
SPRINGING JACK
GREEN wooden leaves clap light away,
Severely practical, as they
Shelter the children, candy-pale.
The chestnut-candles flicker, fail....
The showman’s face is cubed clear as
The shapes reflected in a glass
Of water—(glog, glut, a ghost’s speech
Fumbling for space from each to each).
The fusty showman fumbles, must
Fit in a particle of dust
The universe, for fear it gain
Its freedom from my box of brain.