O wretched race of men, to space confined! <br />What honour can ye pay to him, whose mind <br />To that which lies beyond hath penetrated? <br />The symbols he bath formed shall sound his praise, <br />And lead him on through unimagined ways <br />To conquests new, in worlds not yet created. <br /> <br />First, ye Determinants! in ordered row <br />And massive column ranged, before him go, <br />To form a phalanx for his safe protection. <br />Ye powers of the nth roots of — 1! <br />Around his head in ceaseless cycles run, <br />As unembodied spirits of direction. <br /> <br />And you, ye undevelopable scrolls! <br />Above the host wave your emblazoned rolls, <br />Ruled for the record of his bright inventions. <br />Ye Cubic surfaces! by threes and nines <br />Draw round his camp your seven-and-twenty lines— <br />The seal of Solomon in three dimensions. <br /> <br />March on, symbolic host! with step sublime, <br />Up to the flaming bounds of Space and Time! <br />There pause, until by Dickenson depicted, <br />In two dimensions, we the form may trace <br />Of him whose soul, too large for vulgar space, <br />In n dimensions flourished unrestricted.<br /><br />James Clerk Maxwell<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/to-the-committee-of-the-cayley-portrait-fund/
