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.