THE PASSIONATE ASTRONOMER TO HIS LOVE

THE PASSIONATE ASTRONOMER TO HIS LOVE

Come live with me and be my love, 

and we’ll nocturnal pleasures prove, 

beneath the pageant of the sky

and scattered asterisms lie

counting cold, galactic gems 

refracted through the ticking lens. 

Like vampires let us sleep away

the harsh distraction of the day 

in towers on rocky heights, far poised

above, beyond, the city’s noise.

I give you jasmine flowers of stars,

the ruby that is warlike Mars; 

from kingly Jupiter, your hands

receive that planet’s golden bands, 

the nebulae your bridal gown,

the Milky Way your wedding crown. 

Draw closer, I can’t bear you far

though seeming close, as is the star 

drawn close within my telescope, 

though stars can neither love nor hope. 

On nights that close in overcast 

we have those pleasures saved for last: 

If these delights thy mind may move, 

Then live with me, and be my love.

THE NYMPH’S REPLY TO THE ASTRONOMER

The stars are cold and far away,

and liked you not them best that way,

these pretty pleasures might me move

to live with thee and be thy love.

The stars are old, and we are young.

Your ardour makes a hasty tongue.

You love the skies; that love is spurned

and comets no one’s love returned,

so why should  I sweet nothings say

when you will spy me anyway?

Besides it’s clear for all to see,

you love the heavens more than me.

Damned if I will take second place

to meteorite and lunar phase,

and keep your tower, soon forgot

while you stargaze. I’d rather not.

Your ruby and gold bands reveal

no solid wealth to weigh and feel.

One cannot live on stellar ardour

lest void come down into the larder.

For I can stargaze on my own,

and concentrate the best alone.

Were this not so, you might me move

To live with thee and be thy love.