Poets say science takes away from the beauty of stars—mere globs of gas atoms. Nothing is ‘mere’. I too see the stars on a desert night and feel them. But do I see less or more? … What is the pattern, or the meaning, or the why? It does not do harm to the mystery to know a little more about it. For far more marvellous is the truth than any artists of the past imagined it. Why do the poets of the present not speak of it?
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