There is a Zone whose even Years  
  No Solstice interrupt -  
  Whose Sun constructs perpetual Noon  
  Whose perfect Seasons wait -  
  Whose Summer set in Summer, till  
  The Centuries of June  
  And Centuries of August cease  
  And Consciousness - is Noon.
Poems: including variant readings critically compared with all known manuscripts (ed. Belknap Press, 1955)























