The Equinox (Volume I, Number IV)

XXII Sir PaLaMebE his wits doth rally, Nursing his wound beside a lake Within an admirable valley, Whose walls their thirst on heaven slake, And in the moonlight mystical Their countless spears of silver shake. Thus reasons he: “ In each and all Fyttes of this quest the quarry’s track Is wondrous geometrical. In spire and whorl twists out and back The hart with fair symmetric line. And lo! the grain of wit I lack— This Beast is Master of Design. So studying each twisted print In this mirific mind of mine, My heart may happen on a hint.” Thus as the seeker after gold Eagerly chases grain or glint, 61