The Delights Of Mathematics

It seems a hundred years or more
    Since I, with note-book, ink and pen,
In cap and gown, first trod the floor
    Which I have often trod since then;
Yet well do I remember when,
    With fifty other fond fanatics,
I sought delights beyond my ken,
    The deep delights of Mathematics.

I knew that two and two made four,
    I felt that five times two were ten,
But, as for all profounder lore,
    The robin redbreast or the wren,
The sparrow, whether cock or hen,
    Knew quite as much about Quadratics,
Was less confused by x and n,
    The deep delights of Mathematics.

The Asses' Bridge I passed not o'er,
    I floundered in the noisome fen
Which lies behind it and before;
    I wandered in the gloomy glen
Where Surds and Factors have their den.
    But when I saw the pit of Statics,
I said Good-bye, Farewell, Amen!
    The deep delights of Mathematics.

O Bejants! blessed, beardless men,
    Who strive with Euclid in your attics,
For worlds I would not taste again
    The deep delights of Mathematics.

Robert Fuller Murray

Robert Fuller Murray was a Scottish poet known for his lyrical and expressive poetry. Born on December 26, 1863, in Roxbury, Massachusetts, he moved to Scotland at a young age. Despite a short life, ending on April 15, 1894, Murray left a significant mark with his works, which often reflected themes of nature and human emotion. His poetry is characterized by its elegance and depth of feeling. Murray's influence remained through posthumous publications and collections of his poetry.

Robert Fuller Murray

On A Crushed Hat

Robert Fuller Murray, Simple Poetry

Yet A Little Sleep

Robert Fuller Murray, Simple Poetry

An Orator's Complaint

Robert Fuller Murray, Simple Poetry

The Outcast's Farewell

Robert Fuller Murray, Simple Poetry

English

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A Mathematical Problem (A humorous student-days poem on geometry)

If Pegasus will let thee only ride him, Spurning my clumsy efforts to o'erstride him, Some fresh expedient the Muse will try, And walk on stilts, although she cannot fly.

TO THE REV. GEORGE COLERIDGE

Dear Brother,
I have often been surprized, that Mathematics, the quintessence of Truth, should have found admirers so few and so languid. - Frequent consideration and minute scrutiny have at length unravelled the cause - viz. - that though Reason is feasted, Imagination is starved; whilst Reason is luxuriating in it's proper Paradise, Imagination is wearily travelling on a dreary desart. To assist Reason by the stimulus of Imagination is the design of the following production. In the execution of it much may be objectionable. The verse (particularly in the introduction of the Ode) may be accused of unwarrantable lib...

Samuel Taylor Coleridge

Songs Of Education: V. The Higher Mathematics

Form 339125, Sub-Section M

        Twice one is two,
        Twice two is four,
But twice two is ninety-six if you know the way to score.
        Half of two is one,
        Half of four is two,
But half of four is forty per cent. if your name is Montagu:
    For everything else is on the square
    If done by the best quadratics;
    And nothing is low in High Finance
    Or the Higher Mathematics.

        A straight line is straight
        And a square mile is flat:
But you learn in trigonometrics a trick worth two of that.
        Two straight lines
        Can't enclose a Space,
But they can enclose a Corner to support the Chosen Race:
    For you never know what Dynamics do
    With the lower truths of Statics;
    And h...

Gilbert Keith Chesterton

A College Career

I

When one is young and eager,
    A bejant and a boy,
Though his moustache be meagre,
    That cannot mar his joy
When at the Competition
He takes a fair position,
And feels he has a mission,
    A talent to employ.

With pride he goes each morning
    Clad in a scarlet gown,
A cap his head adorning
    (Both bought of Mr. Brown);
He hears the harsh bell jangle,
And enters the quadrangle,
The classic tongues to mangle
    And make the ancients frown.

He goes not forth at even,
    He burns the midnight oil,
He feels that all his heaven
    Depends on ceaseless toil;
Across his exercises
A dream of many prizes
Before his spirit rises,
    And makes his raw blood boil.

II

Though he b...

Robert Fuller Murray

Meditations Of A Classical Man On A Mathematical Paper During A Late Fellowship Examination.

    Woe, woe is me! for whither can I fly?
    Where hide me from Mathesis' fearful eye?
    Where'er I turn the Goddess haunts my path,
    Like grim Megoera in revengeful wrath:
    In accents wild, that would awake the dead,
    Bids me perplexing problems to unthread;
    Bids me the laws of x and y to unfold,
    And with "dry eyes" dread mysteries behold.
    Not thus, when blood maternal he had shed,
    The Furies' fangs Orestes wildly fled;
    Not thus Ixion fears the falling stone,
    Tisiphone's red lash, or dark Cocytus' moan.
    Spare me, Mathesis, though thy foe I be,
    Though at thy altar ne'er I bend the knee,
    Though o'er thy "Asses' Bridge" I never pass,
    And ne'er in this respect will prove an ass;
    Still let mild...

Edward Woodley Bowling

The M.A. Degree. After Wordsworth

It was a phantom of delight
When first it gleamed upon my sight,
A scholarly distinction, sent
To be a student's ornament.
The hood was rich beyond compare,
The gown was a unique affair.
By this, by that my mind was drawn
Then, in my academic dawn;
A dancing shape, an image gay
Before me then was my M.A.

I saw it upon nearer view,
A glory, yet a bother too!
For I perceived that I should be
Involved in much Philosophy
(A branch in which I could but meet
Works that were neither light nor sweet);
In Mathematics, not too good
For human nature's daily food;
And Classics, rendered in the styles
Of Kelly, Bohn, and Dr. Giles.

And now I own, with some small spleen,
A most confounded ass I've been;
The glory seems an empty brea...

Robert Fuller Murray

Thirty Years After

Two old St. Andrews men, after a separation of nearly thirty years, meet by chance at a wayside inn.    They interchange experiences; and at length one of them, who is an admirer of Mr. Swinburne's Poems and Ballads, speaks as follows:

If you were now a bejant,
    And I a first year man,
We'd grind and grub together
In every kind of weather,
When Winter's snows were regent,
    Or when the Spring began;
If you were now a bejant,
    And I a first year man.

If you were what you once were,
    And I the same man still,
You'd be the gainer by it,
For you--you can't deny it--
A most uncommon dunce were;
    My profit would be nil,
If you were what you once were,
    And I the same man still.

If you were last in Latin,
    And I ...

Robert Fuller Murray