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 ...
I stood at sunrise, on the topmost partOf lofty mountain, massively sublime;A pinnacle of trachyte, seamed and scarredBy countless generations' ...
Ephemeral denizen of the dawn Emblazoned on the waking An aerosol archaeopteryx Captured for a twinkling On the heavens Feathers ...
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