Do not all charms fly
At the mere touch of cold
philosophy?

There was an aweful rainbow
once in heaven:

We know her woof, her texture;
she is given

In the dull catalogue
of common things.

Philosophy can clip an
Angel's wings,

Conquer all mysteries by rule
and line,

Empty the hunted air, and
gnomed mine-

Unweave a raindow . . .

Keats, 1884