The Oryx

Oryx Oryx, climbing high,
In the gorges of the heart;
What commanding vein or heel,
Could claim thy ruthless purity?
In what severe sky or sun
climbed the metal of thine veins?
on what wings dare he repair?
What the head, dare catch the metal?
And what muscle, & what power,
Could teach the tissues of thy tongue?
And when thy tongue began to talk,
What free head? & what free buttocks?
What the program? what the plan,
In what chipset was thy cells?
What the data? what free work,
Dare its dread agony twist!
When the skies tore down their cloaks
And blessed men with their strokes:
Did he dream his fruits to see?
Did he who fed the ant feed thee?
Oryx Oryx, climbing high,
In the gorges of the heart;
What commanding vein or heel,
Could claim thy ruthless purity?

Crunch!