Stones from The Quarry | ||
PRODUCTION OF SPECIES BY SELECTION.
Nature begins her wondrous seriesOf being so low that the microscope
Itself is key not fine enough to ope
The complex wards of the chamber, where at ease
She works her wonders; rising by degrees
So nice, that Fancy in her widest scope,
With all art's, reason's aids, is forced to grope
For the lost clue of her fine subtleties.
Ascending in her scale, we come to Man,
Her “opus magnum;”—did she stay her hand
In blind self-consciousness of finished plan,
Or could no more materials command?
Could her great hand no higher Being span,
Or higher worlds alone give scope more grand?
Stones from The Quarry | ||