From the spy’s window, or the soldiers’ camp,
The schoolboy’s cage, the lover’s latticed heart,
And bore his messages over turbulent seas
And snow-capt mountains, with a sinewy wing
That raced the falcon, beating stroke for stroke.”
II
Lamarck, Lavoisier, and Ninety-three
So, seizing the pure fire from Buffon’s hand,
Lamarck pressed on, flinging all else aside,
To follow all those clues to his own end.