We babble of our " conquest of the air";
Of Nature's secrets one by one laid bare.
Her secrets! They are evermore withheld:
'Tis only in her porches we have dwelled.
Could we once lift her veil as we desire,
We were burnt up as chaff before her fire.

O mighty is Knowledge, yet to this we are blind —
Art can create, Science can only find .
We do but nibble at Truth: our vaunted lore
Is the half-scornful alms flung from her door.
Our lips her weak and watered wine have known:
The unthinned vintage is for gods alone.