For the Glory of Poet Harvey

An old favorite of the boys is to state things briefly and plainly,  
In masters of medicine that has been selected;  
As brilliant as the clam's leg,  
Yet, not letting anything pass unmentioned, which cannot be seen,  
As their closeness is near as mine  
Only to taste the electricity inside the music  
As the wiring is stated, and then taps the start.  
And me, fretful of the described memory used,  
Now for it all to fall apart, and that's when it did.  
I gasped when hearing falters of the young.  
Today, I’m relieved of the lectures of moral questers  
In which Harvey laid into the canons for guidance,  
So long ago, describing the swirls of the heart; pure poesy  
To show as much as may be seen at one glance,  
With such goodness, and then not to speak of anything,  
An overture which can be as well explained  
But to enter too much part, or too minuscule of the uttered partition
Would be prejudicial, for time does not permit.  
Then left onward to subdivide it according to any juxtapositions  
Relationship of pure chance is to speculate the posture of this spectacular beast,  
The actual body which is being dissected, only by his speech and authority,  
And by Harvey’s own credit, he lay open what cannot be shown,  
A phosphorescent glow inside the white laden jar,  
Enforcing the right opinion and remarks drawn far and near
To illustrate the structure of praise and dispraise of other anatomists.  
For Harvey, he did well not to dispute with others, nor attempted to confute.  
Except by the most obvious reply of silence, and there were excuses.  
Even for those who were in error?  
To allot a definite time to each part of the body,  
-i.e., first day's lectures dedicated to the abdomen,  
The second to the thorax, the third to the brain,  
And so on, and so on, and so onward.  
Thank you, Poet Harvey, you have done your part.