The Oryx

Oryx Oryx, fighting back,
In the chasms of the sky;
What perceptive arm or vein,
Could aim thy awesome liberty?
In what profound sun or sun
fought the threshold of thine neck?
in what faith dare he approve?
What the nerve, dare seize the threshold?
And what pelvis, & what freedom,
Could fit the spirit of thy breast?
And when thy breast began to feel,
What grim nerve? & what grim testes?
What the hammer? what the chain,
In what furnace was thy lip?
What the anvil? what grim rule,
Dare its grim passions control!
When the suns threw down their rage
And stunned humans with their weight:
Did he laugh his toil to see?
Did he who formed the bear form thee?
Oryx Oryx, fighting back,
In the chasms of the sky;
What perceptive arm or vein,
Could aim thy awesome liberty?

Crunch!