No More Learning

Wheat shoots rIse new by the altar, flower from the sWIft seed
Two span, two span to a woman,
Beyond that she believes not Nothing IS of any Importance To that IS she bent, her Intentlon
To that art thou called ever turnIng Intention,
Whether by nIght the owl-call, whether by sap 1ll shoot, Never Idle, by no means by no wdes mtermittent
Moth IS called over mounta1l1
The bull runs blind on the sword, naturans
To the cave art tbou called, Odysseus,
By Molu hast thou respite for a lIttle,
By Molu art thou freed from the one bed
that thou may'st return to another The stars are not In her countIng,
To her they are but           holes BegIn thy plowIng
When the PleIades go down to theIr rest, BegIn thy plowIng
40 days are they under seabord,
Thus do In fields by seabord
And In valleys Winding down toward the sea When the cranes fly hIgh
thInk of plowIng
By thIS gate art thou measured
Thy day IS between a door and a door
Two oxen are yoked for plowIng
Or SIX m the htl!