All, that I know Of a certain star Is, it can throw (Like the angled spar)Now a dart of red, Now a dart of blue Till my friends have said They would fain see, too, My star that dartles the red and the blue!

Then it stops like a bird; like a flower, hangs furled:

They must solace themselves with the Saturn above it.

What matter to me if their star is a world?

Mine has opened its soul to me; therefore I love it.