James Clerk Maxwell Poems

Why, when our sun shines clearest,
Why, when our hopes seen nearest,
Why, when our life feels dearest,
Rises a secret pain—
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"Te quoque vatem dicunt pastores."—VIRGIL.


O Maxwell, if by reason’s strength
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The tendrils of my soul are twined
With thine, though many a mile apart.
And thine in close coiled circuits wind
Around the needle of my heart.
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Will mounted ebonite disk
On smooth unyielding bearing,,
When turned about with notion brisk
(Nor excitation sparing),
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Oft in the night, from this lone room
I long to fly o’er land and sea,
To pierce the dark, dividing gloom,
And join myself to thee.
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I.

Will you come along with me,
In the fresh spring-tide,
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Thair is a knichte rydis through the wood,
And a doughty knichte is tree,
And sure hee is on a message sent,
He rydis see hastilie.
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Horace.

While I was your beloved one,
And while no other youth threw his fond arms around
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I.

Alone on a hillside of heather,
I lay with dark thoughts in my mind,
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All the snows have fled, and grass springs up on the meadows,
And there are leaves on the trees;
Earth has changed her looks, and turbulent rivers decreasing,
Slowly meander along;
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