The poem
The height of wisdom seems to me That of a child; So let my ageing vision be Serene and mild. The depth of folly, I aver, Is to fish deep In that dark pool of science where Truth-demons sleep.
Let me not be a bearded sage Seeing too clear; In issues of the atom age Man-doom I fear. So long as living's outward show To me is fair, What lies behind I do not know, And do not care.
Of woeful fears of future ill That earth-folk haunt, Let me, as radiant meadow rill, Be ignorant. Aye, though a sorry dunce I be In learning's school, Lord, marvellously make of me Your Happy Fool!