Too Many Starving Birds

How could we never let it come,
Bright as a rising star to have us bleed
In parturition of substantial joy,
That men can walk upon and which can feed
Too many starving birds? the lakes
Are not in trout; their golden skin
Has sung toward milky streams
That angels guide the current of,
And older men than I in coats of lead
Have physiognomies so good
Wolves guard their flocks for them.
It makes new worlds and does not burn the eld
But candies them in silvering
Like Zosimas the desert Seanchaí;
The blue of royalty that says of how
Ear, thumb, and eye are instruments of God.
How could we never let it come?
Are we that proud to claim
The apple has its flavour from our tongue?