With long fore-finger curled and then uncurled

He spun on its tilted axis the colored world,

Stronger than Atlas, holding in his hand

The hollow pasteboard globe on a wooden stand.

The round bulk carried his own country down,

Then slowly up, and turning steadily, swung

Even this house in this anonymous town

Toward all the stars the world revolves among.

Even the weight that pressed upon his mind

Rode there, and somewhere in earth's weather

One with a will to lift it, calm and kind.

Faster? He spun his world until it rocked.

And faster still? The loosened axis knocked.

Not if he spun his world all night to-night

Would any country overtake another,

Nor their starry travels bring two lives together,

Spaced in their orbits like two birds in flight.

He let the world run down, and let it stop.

The lamplight made a shiny place on top,

On blue ocean and a country colored red.

He put the world in a box and went to bed.