Reflex Musings: Reflections From Various Surfaces

In the dense entangled street,

Where the web of Trade is weaving,

Forms unknown in crowds I meet

Much of each and all believing;

Each his small designs achieving

Hurries on with restless feet,

While, through Fancy’s power deceiving,

Self in every form I greet.

Oft in yonder rocky dell

Neath the birches’ shadow seated,

I have watched the darksome well,

Where my stooping form, repeated,

Now advanced and now retreated

With the spring’s alternate swell,

Till destroyed before completed

As the big drops grew and fell.

By the hollow mountain-side

Questions strange I shout for ever,

While the echoes far and wide

Seem to mock my vain endeavour;

Still I shout, for though they never

Cast my borrowed voice aside,

Words from empty words they sever—

Words of Truth from words of Pride.

Yes, the faces in the crowd,

And the wakened echoes, glancing

From the mountain, rocky browed,

And the lights in water dancing—

Each my wandering sense entrancing,

Tells me back my thoughts aloud,

All the joys of Truth enhancing

Crushing all that makes me proud.

― James Clerk Maxwell (1831-1879)