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 ...
To Mrs. E.C. Morrieson'Twas not chance but deep design,Tho' of whom I can't divineMade the courtly Valentine(Corpulent saint and bishop)Such ...
At quite uncertain times and places, The atoms left their heavenly path, And by fortuitous embraces, Engendered all that being hath. And though they ...
In the dense entangled street,Where the web of Trade is weaving,Forms unknown in crowds I meetMuch of each and all ...
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