My Star

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.