Do not all charms fly
At the
mere touch of cold philosophy?
There was
an awful rainbow once in heaven:
We know
her woof, her texture; she is given
In the dull
catalogue of common things.
Philosophy
will clip an Angel's wings,
Conquer all
mysteries by rule and line,
Empty the
haunted air, and gnomèd mine—
Unweave a
rainbow, as it erewhile made
The
tender-person'd Lamia melt into a shade.
John Keats
