Song Poem by Albert Pike

Let the dreaming astronomer number each star,
That at midnight peeps over its pillow of blue;
A pleasanter study to me is, by far,
The orb that shines over a cheek's rosy hue.
Let the crazy astrologer search for his fates
In the cusps and the nodes of his dim luminaries;
He is wiser, like me, who his fortune awaits,
As told in the glance that in beauty's eye varies;
Who studies, as I do, the stars of the soul,
And cares not nor heeds how those over us roll.

I have studied them many a long summer eve,
When the leaves and bright waters were quietly singing,
The science and learning that thence we receive,
Is a joy and perfume to the memory clinging.
It is better than wasting the eyes and the brain,
And youth's sunny season, intended for pleasure,
In delving for knowledge more useless and vain
Than is to a squalid old miser his treasure.
I would give not one glimpse at the eyes that I love,
To know all the stars that are clustered above.

There was Lydia; no star was as bright as her eye,
So soft, yet so proud, in its black, misty lashes;
While Harriet's, set in the clear summer sky,
Would have shamed every orb in the azure that flashes;
There was Lizzy's, a gem 'neath her ivory brow,
And Kate's, like Love's planet in still waters dreaming;
And Lilian, whose soul seems to shine on me now,
As it shone of old time in her amber eyes beaming;
There was Mary, who kept me from conies and Greek,
While her eyes lit a love which the tongue could not speak.

There was Ann, whose dear smiles yet my visions inspire,
And whose eyes bless my dreams like a light in the distance,
That over rude waters shoots welcoming fire,
And to all good resolves and fair hopes lends assistance.
Let fate kindly light with such stars my dark way,
For the few fleeting hours of my life-dream remaining;
I'll ask not for science to help me grow gray,
I'll ask not for fame while my life-tide is waning;
I'll wish for no laurels, I'll ask for no prize,
But permission to study sweet lips and bright eyes.