Classic Poem

If it could be done by clenched fist and parted lips
And the blood flowing hot and quick
Or pose of noble flight towards
The bright image in the glass
Or wounds bound up and horses ordered out
Again or any lonely mad act
Winning a kingdom for a grateful king
But the serious hands that touch this head
When it is tired are pale and lank
Like a river that puts thin arms
Around the earth's brown waist
And says INDIAN-WOMAN MAKE LOVE
LEAVE THE CORN GREEN THE HAY YELLOW
THERE ARE ENOUGH BOOKS NOT ENOUGH WOMEN