Poem by Robert Browning

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. 

1. Protus
2. Thus The Mayne Glideth
3. Home-Thoughts, from the Sea
4. The Italian in England
5. To Edward Fitzgerald

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