A Poet loved a Star,
And to it whispered nightly,
“Being so fair, why art thou, love, so far?
Or why so coldly shine, who shin’st so brightly?
O Beauty wooed and unpossest!
  O, might I to this beating breast
  But clasp thee once and then die blest!”
That Star her Poet’s love,
So wildly warm, made human;
And leaving, for...