I’d tear the ceiling from the sky
to grow taller; dove-tail,
pigeon-tail and rip its bonnet
smaller. In spring the good earth
rumbles, but I a greater fuel—

I want more! A pepper sky
shot up the fields with blue,
the rounding ache of sleep
and the day hot on its hands;
shepherds hop and wailing
upon the fat hill’s side,

the lonesome moan of ewes
and the sob of lambs—

I’d eat this whole world up:
dove-tail, pigeon-tail
and rush it all together;
make my each ambition full
of sun and dirt and heather.