 | Three Hundred Sonnets |  |
126
HARVEY.
‘The life which is the blood:’ O heedless men,How often unbelieving have ye heard
The side-dropp'd hints, that strew the written Word:
The fountain-heart, that pours the stream of life;
The cell-stopt wheel, that makes it circle then
By vessels manifold; ye might have learn'd
From the fool's scorn, a Guide that never err'd,
Without the clumsier aid of scalpel knife,
These truths for ages, had ye but discern'd
The book of God with natural wisdom rife:
Still, Harvey, be thy patient genius praised,
The shrewdness of thy well-digested plan,
Whose hand the strangely-woven curtain raised
That veil the mysteries of life from man.
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