He leaps across time and space
He has no limits

He deals with sages and godmen
Or with select Europeans
Or with the other of his own class
Having no roots
In the soil

Having no flower to blossom
In the tangled branches

He communicates with his equals
In international English
Or Sanskrit

Beyond the fence enclosing
His garden of croton plants
There are rugged trees
Without his polish and delicacy ;

And apparitions with outstretched hands,
Whole mouths are full of dust,
Who in a rage delve their minds
With a language rooted in their loins;
Who carry the stinking manure on their heads
And walk the rain-smelling fields,
Who obduratily try to uptrun this earth
With an ancient plough.