There must be an acrid sloe before a luscious peach,
A boll of rotting flax before the bridal veil,
An egg before an eagle, a thought before a thing,
A spark struck into tinder to light the lamp of knowledge,
A slight suggestive nod to guide the watching mind,
A half-seen hand upon the wall, pointing to the balance of Comparison.
By culture man may do all things, short of the miracle,—Creation;
Here is the limit of thy power,—here let thy pride be stayed:
The soil may be rich, and the mind may be active, but neither yield unsown;
The eye cannot make light, nor the mind make spirit.