Waving The Cosmos Goodbye

“The telescope tells us so little,”
He said, applying a gobbet of unhealthily viscous spittle

To a grubby rag and wiping it vigorously into the eyepiece,

“But every jot and tittle

“Contributes something, however nugatory, to my peace

“Of mind. Now, hand me my veal-and-ham pie please.”

Remember, this was fifty years ago and more.

That day, I walked out through the observatory door

A sadder and a more stupid man

Than I had ever been before.

The great astronomer seemed determined to scupper my plan

And paid me less attention than his flan.

That day I burned my research papers and resolved

To buy a farm. With my hopes dashed and dissolved

What greater comfort could I find

Than to be alone with a few sheep? My mind revolved

No more with the cosmos. I felt my terrors unwind

As I walked among lambs. I left the stars behind.

And yet, as I walk under the clear skies of Devon,

I feel something far more deeply interfused begin to leaven

My contentment. The lambs are white

On the dark tor, like snowflakes on the back of a sleeping raven,

Or intimations of a better heaven in the long night

That once robbed me, thanks to the great astronomer, of all my           delight.