But imaging, also, dauntless love of truth
In two or three, the bearers of the fire.
Henslow, subdued, with twenty reticent words
That, in their mere formality, seemed aware
Of silent dark momentous currents flowing
Under the trivial ripple of use and wont,
Called on Daubeny, first, for his discourse
On Sex in Flowers, and their descent through time.
Daubeny, glancing over his glasses, bowed
And twinkled a wise physician’s rosy smile,