All, that I know Of a certain
Is, it can throw (Like the angled spar)Now a dart of red, Now a dart of
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.
