Because Thou hadst all eternity to amuse,

O dramatist of death and life and birth,

O sculptor of the living shapes of earth,

World-artist revelling in forms and hues,

A mathematician Mind that never errs,

Thou hast played with theorems, numbers, measures, cubes,

Passed cells, electrons, molecules through Thy tubes,

World-forces for Thy Science’s ministers,

And made a universe of Thy theories,

Craftsman minute, an architect of might.

Protean is Thy Spirit of Delight,

An adept of a thousand mysteries.

Or built some deep Necessity, not Thy whim,

Fate and Inconscience and the snare of Time?