Entropy is not simplicity,
Nor probability Art,
Or else unconsciousness would be complicity,
The mechanism equal to the part.
The music of the spheres is noise —
Infinite novelty — not to be compared
With pauses in a silence caught to be aired:
The dancer’s step’s infinitesimal poise,
Her poses in an orbit swept to be paired.
The orrery’s charm remains un-quantified;
Its elegant worlds in stillness on the shelf —
A calculus of Heaven, euphony reified —
In harmony rise and set, un-damned, un-deified,
And Beauty equates to nothing but itself.