Reason now apologises for the constraints upon poetic liberty:-
I know the true poet finds his words
In charcoal dreams, a soft-shuffle roundelay
That emanates from reflections in pools of solitude…
To offer the liberty to linger on the grass
Where clouds above scud images into personal tastes,
Tonguing newly minted thoughts, striped zebra sharp
With wintergreen, storm liquorice, or dripping caramel.
But Virgil comes to the rescue through his husbandry of bees and the method known to an Arcadian bee-master of nurturing a new hive in the blood of a battered and slaughtered calf. Bees are the collective image of self sacrifice for the greater good of all. So poetry must surrender to argument. Soul mocks Reason’s diversion by suggesting that the waggle-tail dance by which bees communicate was little more than enough trial and error over enough time. Reason recognises the satirical voice of the Authority, the academic Professor…
The man who fashioned from a parchment (curlicue embossed
With a laudatum in Latin outlining his skill…)
A club of stone to beat out brains
Harbouring the virus of illogical belief?