Should man, with microscopic eye,
View the details of Nature's plan,
Into each nook and corner pry,
And needlessly the hidden scan?
Should he inspect each bud and flow'r,
With close, unmeant, uncall'd-for look,
And, by his analytic pow'r,
Dissolve each charm of vale or brook?
Should he resolve the rainbow's hues,
Into their prime and simple forms,
And thus the charm dispel, unloose,
Which gladdens us, amid the storms?
Should he, with keen, inquiring look,
Insist on knowing, seeing all,
Which nature made a sealed book
On this, our strange, terrestrial ball,
'Tis hard to draw the line, indeed,
When we should pry, and when refrain,
But science surely has its need
Of knowledge gain'd, and also pain.
The blooming flow'r, the flutt'ring leaf,
Have surely charms we all can tell,
And analysing brings to grief,
The charms we felt, and knew so well.
Th' untutor'd savage, roaming wild,
Could view the rainbow in the sky,
And, tho' in science but a child,
He saw with gladden'd heart, and eye.
And so, I apprehend, that we
Should oft restrain our thoughts and sight,
Nor delve too far, nor try to see,
With deeper, but more painful light.