Wake up and run, you sloven with sleep-filled eyes!
Constrict the hillside into a tawny gold
And shout huzzah non-stop ‘till the season dies.
If summer slunk off, but still seemed fullblown in size
And left you behind for dead, musing in leaf-mold,
Wake up and run, you sloven with sleep-filled eyes!
Now strengthen the woodland: gnarl, harmonize—
Enjoin, freeze, quicken fold over fold,
And shout huzzah non-stop ’till the season dies.
You’ve fired trees vermilion? Each small tendril dries;
Withdrawing and closing all pores against the cold —
Wake up and run, you sloven with sleep-filled eyes!
Focus the glaring noontimes with purple-grey dyes!
Turn thousands of cartwheels on ice, keeping your hold
And shout huzzah non-stop ’till the season dies.
When ice splits trees, clap hands and sing from the rise
A psalm or a bawdy song echoing richer than bold.
Wake up and run, you sloven with sleep-filled eyes!
And shout huzzah non-stop ’till the season dies.