Science

I would rejoice in iron arms with those

Who, nobly in the scorn of recompense,

Have dared to follow Truth alone, and thence

To teach the truth—nor fear’d the rage that rose.

No high-piled monuments are theirs who chose

Her great inglorious toil—no flaming death;

To them was sweet the poetry of prose,

But wisdom gave a fragrance to their breath.

Alas! we sleep and snore beyond the night,

Tho’ these great men the dreamless daylight show;

But they endure—the Sons of simple Light?—

And, with no lying lanthorne’s antic glow,

Reveal the open way that we must go.