To The Chief Musician Upon Nabla: A Tyndallic Ode (James Clerk Maxwell Poems)
I. I come from fields of fractured ice, Whose wounds are cured by squeezing, Melting they cool, but in a trice, Get warm again ...
I. I come from fields of fractured ice, Whose wounds are cured by squeezing, Melting they cool, but in a trice, Get warm again ...
FAREWELL, Aruna!--on whose varied shoreMy early vows were paid to Nature's shrine,When thoughtless joy, and infant hope were mine,And whose ...
To-day, this insect, and the world I breathe, Now that my symbols have outelbowed space, Time at the city spectacles, ...
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