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.