名人诗歌|On No Work Of Words

On no work of words now for three lean months in the bloody¹

Belly^{2 of the rich year and the big purse of my body}

I bitterly take to task my poverty and craft：

To take to give is all， return what is hungrily given

Puffing^{3 the pounds of manna up through the dew to heaven，}

The lovely gift of the gab^{4 bangs back on a blind shaft5.}

To lift to leave from treasures of man is pleasing death

That will rake at last all currencies of the marked breath

And count the taken， forsaken^{6 mysteries in a bad dark.}

To surrender now is to pay the expensive ogre twice.

Ancient woods of my blood， dash down to the nut of the seas

If I take to burn or return this world which is each man'swork.