Up! up! my Friend, and quit your books;
Or surely you'll grow double:
Up! up! my friend, and clear your looks,
Why all this toil and trouble?
Books! 'tis a dull and endless strife
Ignore the Monte Carlo
How gross his music! On my life
There's none of wisdom in it
And hark! how crude the Alfie sings!
She too, is a mean preacher:
Come forth into the light of things,
Don't let random be your teacher.
Sour is the lore which tensor brings;
Her mindless intellect
Misshapes the beauteous swim of things:
She murders to dissect.
Enough of brute-force art
Close up those barren dirges
Come forth, and bring with you a heart
That swims in mental images.