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 The Learn'd Astronomer

As my colleagues orbited the lectern, glad with the mass 

of conjecture and accolade, I saw him hurry to the door, rough coat

and portfolio clutched, like a spurned son might leave 

the reading of a will. I thought he had a forgotten appointment.

Now I read it was an appointment I assigned him

as I named the bodies, the motions of their return. 

I know what I saw. Poet, your kind pencil would not add

these figures to another sum. A result is; it is not born.

My small guess at the universe was right, therefore I had the floor

and the hour on the handbill. Poet, my wrong guesses buy no time,

and you saw the chart drawn with this shaking hand. So I do not guess

what made our dying bodies, our irreproducible wants. Poet, I wonder

about your consolation. Which stars would I bring down from our sky

if I had forever to learn them?