He can route the sun Arcturus,
He can map Orion's bands;
He can lure us and assure us,
For we know he understands.
Scarcely anything to speak of
'Scapes his trusty spectroscope;
But a hairy, scary streak of
Gas defies his deepest dope.
A comet always gets him,
Always frets him and upsets him;
For he can't make head or tail of it at all.

He can figure mass and motion,
And can plumb the depths of space;
He can sail the cosmic ocean
In the ships upon its face.
Though a thousand light-years from it,
He can analyze a star;
But the coming of a comet
Gives his intellect a jar.
A comet gets him hazy,
More than hazy, nearly crazy,
For he can't make head or tail of it at all.
As a seed of the pomegranate,
As a grain of golden sand,
He can weigh the winging planet
In the hollow of his hand.
He can heft the bulk of Venus,
And can tell you to a pound
How the difference between us—
Earth and Venus—may be found.
But a comet has him guessing,
Effervescing, and confessing
That he can't make head or tail of it at all.