From "Epiphanies"

Such is your castigation, and such your insubordination:
That heroes’ myths respond to moral code;
You take upon yourself to judge the men of old.
But what gray whirling slides and slips
Serpent-seamless through the coils of your mind?
What iceberg like an undiscovered country
Floats for conquering even in the vast lips
Of the many-birthing ocean, or sails quietly
In eternal lapping, echoing the calls, the cries
That keen from whence the sirens sigh?
First we gather from the ships,
And then we chunk and height around the breadth,
And beating nature into perfect blocks, and desecrating chaos
Into smoothness, into cubeness, into rounded virtuosity of even keeling cubes
Disciplined from all to each their selfless path, they clink in glass
And great foundations of the mind
Become the pour and rush, and tinkling of heat, they melt in wine.