He wonders now and quests in vain
At two or three or four,
Before the dawn has lit the pane
Or crept across the floor.

Is time a rose that plays them false?
Are measures what they need?
Can they not dance without a waltz,
And with equation sprout a seed?

A formula may bare effect,
Or prove that space is bent,
But there aren't numbers he suspects
To show divine intent.