52
Transitional Poem
The armadas of the stormAnd sail superbly above;So near, they'd split and founderOn the least jag of sense,One false spark fire the immenseBroadside the confounding thunder.They pass, give not a salvo,And in their rainy washWe hear the horizons crashWith monitors of woe.
Only at highest powerCan love and fear becomeTheir equilibrium,And in that eminent hourA virtue is made plainOf passionate cleavageLike the hills' cutting edgeWhen the sun sets to rain.This is the single mind,This the star-solved equationOf life with life's negation:A deathless cell designedTo demonstrate death's act,Which, the more surely it movesTo earth's influence, but provesItself the more intact.
