To Einstein by a poet
When excursion you chose, marking
empty zeniths—wisely executing
petty wonders of the child magnetized
by observed globe—also parallel
in pondering the observed abstract,
tide in core of unbroken heaven—
a curious-vein then you found—you wooed
a released thread of nature
reserved perhaps for predicted seeker—
There you wrote, so—initial miracle
under maple—fructified;
your joy, sound for a period—
than an immediately burst of heart,
you expressed like that torn poem
years before—you recited—
‘O’ Child! My Mark! My Glow!
a resolved pattern of nature I follow;
your senseless vein, mysterious here
poked in me an equation, dear!’
So, Matter it was, wooed by Light—
doubled; that decayed in a blink,
and reformed energy passed like
metamorphosed thing!
Its beautified but for vanity of science,
but so poetical engraving in it I find;
it spells a thought in behalf of
the physicist’s bliss (that enthrall
the poet pondering the initials.)
A matter: myself—flushed through
light, multiplied—I break on
then—and blown me
creates that energy!
Its utterly me—the spoiling energy,
pacing the dark-sphere—my
lump is all the atomic riddle
quantized in that charioted light.
3rd March 017