| Never until the mankind making | |
| Bird beast and flower | |
| Fathering and all humbling darkness | |
| Tells with silence the last light breaking | |
| And the still hour | 5 |
| Is come of the sea tumbling in harness | |
| | |
| And I must enter again the round | |
| Zion of the water bead | |
| And the synagogue of the ear of corn | |
| Shall I let pray the shadow of a sound | 10 |
| Or sow my salt seed | |
| In the least valley of sackcloth to mourn | |
| | |
| The majesty and burning of the child's death. | |
| I shall not murder | |
| The mankind of her going with a grave truth | |
| Nor blaspheme down the stations of the breath | |
| With any further | |
| Elegy of innocence and youth. | |
| | |
| Deep with the first dead lies London's daughter, | |
| Robed in the long friends, | |
| The grains beyond age, the dark veins of her mother, | |
| Secret by the unmourning water | |
| Of the riding Thames. | |
| After the first death, there is no other. | |