Science, that simple saint, cannot be bothered Figuring what anything is far; Enough for her…

Science, that simple saint, cannot be bothered Figuring what anything is far;

Enough for her devotions that things are And can be contemplated soon as gathered

She knows how every living thing was fathered,
She calculates the climate of each star,
She counts the fish at sea, but cannot care
Why any one of them exists, fish, fire or feathered

The poet suggests that science