Turning the world moves on equinoctial play

Idly squandering time-on-its-hands away

The sea-changes ring when the birdies will sing

Pleasant part-song: lulla-lay

Clouds come and go, and sometimes the snow

Impulsive weathers dump frolics

Play the Boreal pipes of fine-edged Northern winds

According to fortunes of comets

Even the sea carries great fishery

Here and there, on wide wantonly currents

Persuasive makes traffic

Across mighty Atlantic

For the scaly migrations of days

A whole earth-born dances

Takes its rituals and chances

Modulations transfix by deray

Merrily the blithe cycles, all involved in recitals

Perform with fair lullala-lay

Whether for a semester to visit its sister

Seeks the reason for such roundelay

Has it gone to buy sunshine or staring at moonlight

Ponders clothes for its coming birthday

No account can be given of where it goes driven

What the car or the motive, elective or votive,

Impels it; or motive at all?

The golddiggers urge a preferred petty world

But stargazers look up on high halls

Of a kingdom not seen but in half-light of dream

Where a Lord there rejoices hearing natural voices

His work of disorderly love.

And no purpose or reason promotes what the season

Or claims a world made for utility

Only hecatombs raised to the Lord as his praise

Make account of his purpose and pleasure

Intended in love for the beautiful thing

Of itself its own grandeur and measure

Like a dry-stone wall fence, or a bright new two pence,

In the eye glorify their endeavour

And the image of men in the image of him

Is his work and our being and treasure

Thus the stonewallers big disaffection

Make a case with extreme dereliction

No utlility, purpose, in being:

Lulla-lay, this is so, let the universe know

It’s all here to be merely fulfilling

All existence hangs utterly useless

Says pejorative argument toothless

But go live and be free, thanking Love graciously

Giving wonderful due to his praises

Our delightsomeness thrills at this seeing