Architects plant their imagination, weld their poems on rock, <br />Clamp them to the skidding rim of the world and anchor them down to its core; <br />Leave more than the painter's or poet's snail-bright trail on a friable leaf; <br />Can build their chrysalis round them - stand in their sculpture's belly. <br /> <br />They see through stone, they cage and partition air, they cross-rig space <br />With footholds, planks for a dance; yet their maze, their flying trapeze <br />Is pinned to the centre. They write their euclidean music standing <br />With a hand on a cornice of cloud, themselves set fast, earth-square. <br /> <br /> <br />Submitted by Stephen Fryer<br /><br />Arthur Seymour John Tessimond<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/earthfast/
