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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://www.citatepedia.com/comments.php?id=115224" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>To an astronomer</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0"><a href="http://www.citatepedia.com/comments.php?id=115224" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none">Upon the Professor we'll waste not a glance,<br> Since he has no eyes for us poor terrestrials;<br> With his heart can we have any possible chance,<br> When he gives us for rivals a host of celestials?<br> What cares he for eyes, whether hazel or blue,<br> Or for any slight charms such as we share between us, --<br> When, his glass in his hand, he can sit the night through,<br> And ogle at leisure Diana and Venus.</a></div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><a href="http://poems.citatepedia.com/">poem</a> by <strong><a rel="author" href="http://authors.citatepedia.com/by.php?a=Anne+Lynch+Botta">Anne Lynch Botta</a></strong> from <em><a href="http://sources.citatepedia.com/from.php?a=Anne+Lynch+Botta&d=Poems">Poems</a></em></div>

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