Many has been the poet of old,
Whose Nature's secrets, sought to unfold,
To dig down deep, beneath her mask:
To find some truth; this was their task.

By their heart's power, to maybe explain,
The things we all feel; envy, love and pain.
They shone their light on what it all means,
To gain some respite from Nature's schemes.

Science's approach: well, this surely differs,
To explain the surface, that causes its dithers.
Through its advance, we know more and more:
In battle with Nature, this evens the score.

Yet of poetry's comforts, we must still avail:
In this one regard, our science is pale.
Thus understood, it is science's curse,
That with only it, we'd have no more verse!