The Raven

Raven Raven, growing up,
In the chasms of the dark;
What creative mouth or hand,
Could touch thy stirring honesty?
In what severe seas or skies
grew the thunder of thine jaw?
on what wings dare he translate?
What the breast, dare catch the thunder?
And what tendon, & what freedom,
Could raise the sinews of thy face?
And when thy face began to smile,
What wise breast? & what wise body?
What the blaster? what the sand,
In what foundry was thy eye?
What the casting? what wise force,
Dare its crazy longings hope!
When the spheres shut down their course
And roused the earth with their roars:
Did he smile his faith to see?
Did he who forged the trees forge thee?
Raven Raven, growing up,
In the chasms of the dark;
What creative mouth or hand,
Could touch thy stirring honesty?

Crunch!