Opening its disk of blue and crimson rays
Under the lucid water.
He stretched his hand,
And with a sea-gull’s feather, touched its heart.
The bright disk shrank, and closed, as though a flower
Turned instantly to fruit, ripe, soft, and round
As the pursed lips of a sea-god hiding there.
They fastened, sucking, on the quill and held it.
Young Aristotle laughed. He rose to his feet.
“Come and see this!” he called.