SKY-MAKING
TO PROFESSOR TYNDALL
JUST take a trifling handful, O philosopher,
Of magic matter, give it a slight toss over
The ambient ether, and I don’t see why
You shouldn’t make a sky.
O hours Utopian which we may anticipate!
Thick London fog how easy ’tis to dissipate,
And make the most pea-soupy day as clear
As Bass’s brightest beer!
Poet-professor! now my brain thou kindlest;
I am become a most determined Tyndallist.
If it is known a fellow can make skies,
Why not make bright blue eyes?
This to deny, the folly of a dunce it is;
Surely a girl as easy as a sunset is.
If you can make a halo or eclipse,
The creed of Archimedes, erst of Sicily,
And of D’Israeli ... forti nil difficile,
Is likewise mine. Pygmalion was a fool
Who should have gone to school.
Why should an author scribble rhymes or articles?
Bring me a dozen tiny Tyndall particles;
Therefrom I’ll coin a dinner, Nash’s wine,
And a nice girl to dine.
Mortimer Collins.