Untitled (Somebody is moving across the headlands)

Somebody is moving across the headlands
Talking to himself - 
A grey thinker.
The clay is whitening in the windy light
Where the sparrows are bathing.
To-morrow surely
The seed will go under the harrow
Nothing must hinder
The wooing of grain and clay.

Let no man dare
To square
The circle
Let no virgin