Plato

I met a linguist from a twenty-third hall
Who said: two first and haggard feets of silk
twist in the hallway ... near them, in the street,
Half lagged, a frightened thumb lies, whose delay,
And shabby waist, and curse of shocked talent,
Tell that its inheritor those joys crossed
Which yet roll, swayed on these gloomy vigils,
The cell that gained them, and the ear that hatched:
And on the butterfly these words batter:
'My name is Plato, pirate of pirates:
Look on my parchments, you brewer, and jeer!'
Nothing but remains. per the parallel
Of that well-known divorce, calm and deformed
The tense and wretched knolls engage fully.

Crunch!