Ten years he spent among the flowers of France,
Unravelling, and more truly than Linné,
The natural orders of their tangled clans;
Then, in “six months of unremitting toil,”
As Cuvier subtly sneered, he wrote his book,
The Flore Française; compact, as Cuvier knew,
And did not care to say, with ten years’ thought.
But Buffon did not sneer. The great old man,
A king of men, enthroned there at Montbard,
Aided Lamarck as Jove might aid his son.