Here you will find the Poem II from Lifes Testament of poet William Baylebridge
The brain, the blood, the busy thews That quickened in the primal ooze Support me yet; till ice shall grip The heart of Earth, no strength they?ll lose. They take my thought, they laugh, they run? Ere megatherial moons, begun; And shall, till they shall drop within The shattering whirlwinds of the sun. In subtle and essential ways, Rich with innumerable days, To mould, to charge, to impel me still, Each through my broadest being plays. They surged to this hour, this transfuse? The brain, the blood, the busy thews; That act of mine the ultimate stars Shall look on sprang in primal ooze.
