Famous Short Science Poems. Short Science Poetry by Famous Poets. A collection of the all-time best Science short poems
See also: Short Member Poems
He who is ridden by a conscience
Worries about a lot of nonscience;
He without benefit of scruples
His fun and income soon quadruples.
Stern as my conscience, thou seest the points wherein I'm deficient;
Therefore I've always loved thee, as my own conscience I've loved.
The firefly's flame
Is something for which science has no name
I can think of nothing eerier
Than flying around with an unidentified glow on a
Belshazzar had a Letter --
He never had but one --
Concluded and begun
In that immortal Copy
The Conscience of us all
Can read without its Glasses
On Revelation's Wall --
Sunset at Night -- is natural --
But Sunset on the Dawn
Reverses Nature -- Master --
So Midnight's -- due -- at Noon.
Eclipses be -- predicted --
And Science bows them in --
But do one face us suddenly --
Jehovah's Watch -- is wrong.
Des rides muettes
sur notre front
les limites de notre histoire,
jettent de petits regards
à de petits poèmes d’Homère.
pleines de consciences
des murmures blesses
qui sont devenus l’écho
dans des grottes lumineuses
des bêtes et des innocents.
Who is it seeks my Pillow Nights --
With plain inspecting face --
"Did you" or "Did you not," to ask --
'Tis "Conscience" -- Childhood's Nurse --
With Martial Hand she strokes the Hair
Upon my wincing Head --
"All" Rogues "shall have their part in" what --
The Phosphorous of God --
They say of me, and so they should,
It's doubtful if I come to good.
I see acquaintances and friends
And making enviable names
In science, art, and parlor games.
But I, despite expert advice,
Keep doing things I think are nice,
And though to good I never come-
Inseparable my nose and thumb!
A certain man wishes to be a prince
Of this earth; he also wants to be
A saint and master of the being-world.
Conscience cannot exist in the first:
The second cannot exist without conscience.
Therefore he, who has enough conscience
To be disturbed but not enough to be
Compelled, can neither reject the one
Nor follow the other...
This living hand, now warm and capable
Of earnest grasping, would, if it were cold
And in the icy silence of the tomb,
So haunt thy days and chill thy dreaming nights
That thou wouldst wish thine own heart dry of blood
So in my veins red life might stream again,
And thou be conscience-calmed - see here it is -
I hold it towards you.
A science -- so the Savants say,
"Comparative Anatomy" --
By which a single bone --
Is made a secret to unfold
Of some rare tenant of the mold,
Else perished in the stone --
So to the eye prospective led,
This meekest flower of the mead
Upon a winter's day,
Stands representative in gold
Of Rose and Lily, manifold,
And countless Butterfly!
The Province of the Saved
Should be the Art -- To save --
Through Skill obtained in Themselves --
The Science of the Grave
No Man can understand
But He that hath endured
The Dissolution -- in Himself --
That Man -- be qualified
To qualify Despair
To Those who failing new --
Mistake Defeat for Death -- Each time --
Till acclimated -- to --
WHAT conscience, say, is it in thee,
When I a heart had one,
To take away that heart from me,
And to retain thy own?
For shame or pity now incline
To play a loving part;
Either to send me kindly thine,
Or give me back my heart.
Covet not both; but if thou dost
Resolve to part with neither,
Why, yet to show that thou art just,
Take me and mine together!
'Why did the lady in the lift
Slap that poor parson's face?'
Said Mother, thinking as she sniffed,
Of clerical disgrace.
Said Sonny Boy: 'Alas, I know.
My conscience doth accuse me;
The lady stood upon my toe,
Yet did not say--"Excuse me!"
'She hurt--and in that crowd confined
I scarcely could endure it;
So when I pinched her fat behind
She thought--it was the Curate.'
You taught me Waiting with Myself --
Appointment strictly kept --
You taught me fortitude of Fate --
This -- also -- I have learnt --
An Altitude of Death, that could
No bitterer debar
Than Life -- had done -- before it --
Yet -- there is a Science more --
The Heaven you know -- to understand
That you be not ashamed
Of Me -- in Christ's bright Audience
Upon the further Hand --
O sweet spontaneous
earth how often have
prurient philosophers pinched
has the naughty thumb
of science prodded
often have religions taken
thee upon their scraggy knees
buffeting thee that thou mightest conceive
to the incomparable
couch of death thy
them only with
The prosperous and beautiful
To me seem not to wear
The yoke of conscience masterful,
Which galls me everywhere.
I cannot shake off the god;
On my neck he makes his seat;
I look at my face in the glass,
My eyes his eye-balls meet.
Your gold makes you seem wise:
The morning mist within your grounds
More proudly rolls, more softly lies.
Yet spake yon purple mountain,
Yet said yon ancient wood,
That night or day, that love or crime
Lead all souls to the Good.