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When I heard the learn'd astronomer, When the proofs, the figures, were ranged in columns before me, When I was shown the charts and diagrams, to add, divide, and measure them, When I sitting heard the astronomer, where he lectured with much applause in the lecture-room, How soon unaccountable I became tired and sick, Till rising and gliding out I wander'd off by myself, In the mythical moist night-air, and from time to time, Look'd up in perfect silence at the stars. --Whitman Gah! It's crap like this that reminds me how much I hated reading the transcendentalists in high school... he looked up in mute incomprehension, willing to have the ease of labeling it as a big silent black box rather than working to see what really is. As if I scientist loses the ability to look up at the perfect silence! Like Feynman says, but he can enjoy the flowers on many more levels than the only-poet. --00-5-28 |
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