Sick when a bright teen, so kept from Cambridge
for years, you lie by bed’s window at night,
study Venus, ponder Horrocks, his bridge
from earth to sun. Faith keeps college in sight;
at nineteen, you write of astronomy.
A starred decade later, impressed King Charles
names you first Astronomer Royal, sees
you found Greenwich Observatory. Stars
seem to treble. Before your telescope
grows dark, you’ll catalogue 3,000 more.
What did your rare journey tell you of hope,
of longing for light deep in your own core?
Before you gazed at heavens, artists show
you—a boy tracing a sun dial’s shadow.
Roger Armbrust
March 4, 2013
