Bronzes

They ask me to handle bronzes Kept by children in China Three thousand years Since their fathers Took fire and molds and hammers And made these. The Ming, the Chou, And other dynasties, Out, gone, reckoned in ciphers, Dynasties dressed up In old gold and old yellow — They saw these. Let the wheels Of three thousand years Turn, turn, turn on. Let one poet then (One will be enough) Handle these bronzes And mention the dynasties And pass them along.