His mind, though worn, in pondering
Had set his eyes on high ideal —
The stars in ordered light they sing
Of stories, gods to him were real.
So lost in constellated alms,
He gave his time of thought to stars,
Ungraspable within his palms;
The Moon, and Venus, bloody Mars.

But as he strolled and santeured on,
He strayed his eyes so long from ways;
Until he erred in venture drawn
Where in a well, was trapped for days.
This man of Heaven manifold
Must keep to Earth at times, was told.