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Dr Sigmund Freud Discovers The Sea Shell

Science, that simple saint, cannot be

Figuring what anything is for:

Enough for her devotions that things

And can be contemplated soon as gathered.

She knows how every living thing was fathered,

She calculates the climate of each star,

She counts the fish at sea, but cannot

Why any one of them exists, fish, fire or feathered.

Why should she?

Her religion is to

By rote her rosary of perfect answers.

Metaphysics she can leave to man:

She never wakes at night in heaven or

Staring at darkness.

In her holy

There is no darkness ever: the pure

Burns, the beads drop briskly from her hand.

Who dares to offer Her the curled sea shell!

She will not touch it!—knows the world she

Is all the world there is!

Her faith is perfect!

And still he offers the sea shell . . .

What

Of what far sea upon what unknown

Troubles forever with that asking sound?

What surge is this whose question never ceases?

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Archibald MacLeish

Archibald MacLeish (May 7, 1892 – April 20, 1982) was an American poet and writer who was associated with the modernist school of poetry. MacLei…
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