WHAT poor astronomers are they, Take women's eyes for stars And set their thoughts in battle 'ray To fight such idle wars: When in the end they shall approve, 'Tis but a jest drawn out of love. And love itself is but a jest, Devised by idle heads, To catch young fancies in the nest, And lay it in fool's beds, That being hatched in beauty's eyes, They may be fledged ere they be wise. But yet it is a sport to see How wit will run on wheels, While wit cannot persuaded be With that which reason feels: That women's eyes and stars are odd, And love is but a feignèd god. But such as will run mad with will, I cannot clear their sight: But leave them to their study still, To look where is no light: Till time too late we make them try, They study false astronomy. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...TO AN INTRA-MURAL RAT by MARIANNE MOORE BATTLE OF BRITAIN by CECIL DAY LEWIS NOTES FOR THE FIRST LINE OF A SPANISH POEM by JAMES GALVIN TO THE MARTYRED by GEORGIA DOUGLAS JOHNSON THE SUICIDE by JAMES WELDON JOHNSON TO J. D. H. (KILLED AT SURREY C. H., OCTOBER, 1866) by SIDNEY LANIER |