Upon the Professor we'll waste not a glance,
Since he has no eyes for us poor terrestrials;
With his heart can we have any possible chance,
When he gives us for rivals a host of celestials?
What cares he for eyes, whether hazel or blue,
Or for any slight charms such as we share between us, -
When, his glass in his hand, he can sit the night through,
And ogle at leisure Diana and Venus.

More verses by Anne Charlotte Lynch Botta