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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
A Poem by Robert
Browning. |