Woe to you, great white whale,
slave of academe!
Were you but Melville's anchor
in a sea of frightened sperm,
or but Christ and Christmas
gaily wrapped beneath a barren tree
in April? What has escaped
your clutches to become studied matter,
laboriously hacked into hackneyed theses?
Once I sat beneath the chestnut tree
and did not envy the village smithy.
I saw the damage wrought on natural things,
and picked the blossoms and the nuts.
Ah, to smell sweet New England blossoms!
Herman, what Protestant longings
hold you captive! I sit here
like a restless ocean, swaying
to the sound of the great whale's breath
I hear so distant from this plank road
and its dusty habits.
I take each nut and crack it open
to find the great white whale
singing.
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