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Everything Yields

Everything yields to experiment,
declares Wedgwood, crucible ablaze, clay pouring
a pure species of plumbago, three feet down

shallow and muscle-white, seam thick in the strata.
Phillip turns to the porcelain light, considers this rich Terra Australis;
how everything yields. To experiment,

Banks unearths boxes close with sea-fever and straw.
No. 1 a fine pigment, in flourishing script, would make good china. No. 2 perhaps,
a pure species of plumbago. Three feet down,

the future prospect of empires and dominions, latitude -33° longitude 151°.
Observe, the nature of the soil, minerals, stones—
yield everything to experiment.

Broad over breast and back, like painted soldiers’ belts!
filled with black-lead fire on Britannia’s deck. Darwin poems a new Etruria for
a pure species. Plumbago, three feet down

rises into twelve-foot forts, barrack walls of clay, and the territorial seal
honouring the nation. A valuable trade. Queen’s Ware plated, Jasper blue and now
this pure species of plumbago, three feet down.
Everything yields to experiment.

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