Alice
O. Howell
ARCHIMEDES
What is the fulcrum of the soul,
the lever of our reasoning?
What are the limits of our loss?
and how find dross
concealed within the golds of
love?
What are the turnings of the heart
which with a twisting lift of pain
spiral up our wisdom yet again
from
inner depths, neatly to wind
and spill our resignations
upon the surface of our mind?
How does one focus sorrow
to burn into the sails
of our desires
and so scatter tomorrow's fleets
of
love and longing
which would assault the dire
beaches of our being
and break down all the walls of
prudence?
Oh, Archimedes, in the wonders
of your thought
did you ever turn to probe
if failure's explanations might be
sought
through the obstructed channels of our needs
or in the futile sad propulsions
of our misdirected deeds?
When death's malignant spear
found you crouched over sand
while concentrating without fear
on your designs for man,
perhaps you had just turned
your lucid eye along his span -
or upon those principles of passion
laid across proportions of the soul
which might engender
some individuated whole.
Or upon those analogies whereby
the broken-witted mortal
reason's pantograph might try.
thus point with greater point
ally,
and so delineate himself anew
that spirit fully-patterned
could with divine intelligence
construe
some penultimate significance
to what we dream and do.
A.O.Howell
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