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To the Chief Musician upon Nabla: A Tyndallic Ode… | Poetry Foundation

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I.

Share I. I come from fields of fractured ice, Whose wounds are cured by squeezing, Melting they cool, but in a trice, Get warm again by freezing. Here, in the frosty air, the sprays With fern-like hoar-frost bristle, There, liquid stars their watery rays Shoot through the solid crystal. II. I come from empyrean fires— From microscopic spaces, Where molecules with fierce desires, Shiver in hot embraces. The atoms clash, the spectra flash, Projected on the screen, The double D, magnesian b , And Thallium’s living green. III. We place our eye where these dark rays Unite in this dark focus, Right

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