The Lion

Lion Lion, howling loud,
In the chasms of the night;
What perceptive hair or hand,
Could block thy beaming adventure?
In what ruthless sun or world
howled the entrance of thine heart?
with what word dare he adore?
What the eye, dare throw the entrance?
And what body, & what balance,
Could teach the tendons of thy face?
And when thy face began to smile,
What dread eye? & what dread buttocks?
What the hammer? what the forge,
In what smithy was thy face?
What the anvil? what dread blast,
Dare its cruel longings stroke!
When the spheres shut down their course
And roused the earth with their roars:
Did he love his faith to see?
Did he who loved the mouse love thee?
Lion Lion, howling loud,
In the chasms of the night;
What perceptive hair or hand,
Could block thy beaming adventure?

Crunch!