And say their peace before God and man
For long have I labored to trace the spheres
And long have their paths yet alluded me
Copernicus in his tower sits
And makes the music I long to hear
And yet here I stand in my Tychean turmoil
And I know not yet how to see these things
Wents from the unyielding hands
That hang empyrean upon the ballast fast
I wrought my heart of ore untouched by flame
And the lattice work of my desire
Would not follow the smith's hammer blows
Anon I picked my heart up from the anvil
Where blows so real shattered dreams and fantasy
And relinquished the heart that never was mine
Relingquished the nether-would-bes of morrowtime
The holly hangs upon the heather
And the mistletoe creeps upon the oak
So has this desire clung unto my heart
So shall I set fire to creeping vine and branch alike
Leave naught but ash in my observatory
Leave naught but the tangled form of once was
Melt my astolabe and compass
Retire to that glassy serpent
Upon whose banks wreathed in fog
Purhaps the memory of that face
The memory of Copernicus' song
Shall melt away from all memory
Like imperfections from iron drawn
Or make my mind and heart to fade
Decay the oak and mistletoe
For no longer can this dream last
Soon shall I reap what I have sown
A dark day comes for me
A dark day draws no neigh
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