Poetry Archives

The height of wisdom seems to me
           That of a child;
So let my ageing vision be
           Serene and mild.
The depth of folly, I aver,
           Is to fish deep
In that dark pool of science where
           Truth-demons sleep.
           
Let me not be a bearded sage
           Seeing too clear;
In issues of the atom age
           Man-doom I fear.
So long as living’s outward show
           To me is fair,
What lies behind I do not know,
           And do not care.

Of woeful fears of future ill
           That earth-folk haunt,
Let me, as radiant meadow rill,
           Be ignorant.
Aye, though a sorry dunce I be
           In learning’s school,
Lord, marvellously make of me
           Your Happy Fool!