Sonet __ To Science

If the red slayer thinks he slays,

Or if the slain think he is slain,

They know not well the subtle ways

I keep and pass, and turn again.

Far or forget to me is near;

Shadow and sunlight are the same,

The vanished gods to me appear;

And one to me is shame and fame.

They reckon ill who leave me out;

When they fly, I am the wings;

I am the doubter and the doubt,

And I the hymn the Brahmin sings.

The strong gods pine for my abode,

And pine in vain the sacred Seven;

But thou, meek lover of the good!

Find me, and turn thy back on heaven.