MY PLINTH (fragment)

It is rising, one would say

That it has an endless unearthly root...

It is built by many hands
Twisted and black,
With many living stones …
Many obscure stones
Rising like larvae.

As to the impulse of an omnipotent spider
The stones rise, rise;
The hands build, build,

—Build, build, O, hands!
Rise, rise, O, stones!
A glorious breath of palm trees
Already intoxicates me.

Hidden in the darkest fold of the night,
Beneath the most flowery rosebush of dawn,
Behind the most golden lock of dusk,
The dark larvae
Of stone rise, rise
The hands build, build
Like black rose buds
Of infernal spiders.

Build, build, O, hands!
Rise, rise, O, stones!
The arms of the mountain wind
Already embrace me.