We find that i’th’East Indies stars there be,
Which we in our horizon ne’er did see;
Yet we do take great pains in glasses clear
To see what stars do in the sky appear.

But yet the more we search, the less we know,
Because we find our work doth endless grow.
For who knows, but those stars we see by night
Are suns which to some other worlds give light?

But could our outward senses pace the sky,
As well as can imaginations high,
If we were there, we might as little know
As those which stay, and never up do go.

Then let no man in fruitless pains life spend:
The most we know is, Nature death will send.

​

—From Cavendish's 1653-1664 collection Poems and Fancies.