Scorn not natural logs; scholar, you have frowned
Mindless of their just honours; with the key
Named for sagacious Euler, perfect e,
The logarithmic tables gladly found
Their natural base. While fiercer functions hound
Poor pupils with their rising fronts, dear ln
Meanders gently up; amidst the throng
Of hopeless integrals the very sound
Of dx over x thwarts certain doom.
When scientists drift over nature’s swell
This log keeps them afloat; the very tomb
Of Boltzmann bears its sign, as Planck can tell,
Who held it like a trumpet, whence he blew
That line — S=K logW.