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.

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. 
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