Strange Mathematics Drive Us
Strange mathematics drive us from the sun
And hurtle us towards chaos. Soon, as time
Is measured outside earthly Christendom,
Our life will die in us, and all this rhyme
Will lose its reason, end in something else—
Perhaps an emptiness, perhaps the stir
Of wave-lengths beating coldly on the shells
Of planets.
Here below we mew and purrContenting us with words our fathers spoke,
Still calling names we cannot understand,
Afraid to look beyond the frail smoke
Of our home chimney, holding in our hand
A book of numbers to guide us without thought
Past and below the heavenly Argonaut.