Starry amorist, starward gone,

Thou art-what thou didst gaze upon!

Passed through thy golden garden’s bars,

Thou seest the Gardener of the Stars.

She, about whose moon-ed brows

Seven stars make seven glows,

Seven lights for seven woes;

She, like thine own Galaxy,

All lustres in one purity: —

What said’st thou, Astronomer,

When thou did’st discover HER?

When thy hand its tube let fall,

Thou found’st the fairest Star of all!