Poems (Cromwell)/The Scientist
THE SCIENTIST
With what fidelity and yearning care He must accommodate his glass; in blind Huge darkness, till each star be clear defined; At noon-day, till each point and leaf lies bare: Each crystal in each stone. He must not spare His days nor number years. His eye must find The inmost kernel. Lo, his hands grow kind With touching beauty, and his heart aware Of curious things; of life in spiral shells, Of death in searching mould around each tree. Desiring truth, no lesser gift he owns Upon the lonely summit where he dwells His soul delights in sifting stars and stones. He asks no grace except the grace to see.