Of Proportion

It is the kingdom of proportion, That being hunchback born I cannot enter. It is there that the fearless symmetries are danced.

And it is news of propositions Concerning spheres and other equal bodies, That they, for their prosperity, act and publish.

But I was marred in the firing, hurt in finish, The eye judging me neither simple nor whole, The hand afflicted by the eyesight's tremor,

And though I call music into my partial soul, The strings slack at the hesitant invitation, The horns silence on the penultimate note,

And those simple doors of perfect, unclouded crystal Combine to be closed to my attempts to enter, Return no echo from those who have gone beyond

The succinct stair, into proportion's kingdom, There to be honored by the pure equations, And feel their bodies and straight souls respond.