XX

ARCTURUS is his other name,—

I ’d rather call him star!

It ’s so unkind of science

To go and interfere!

I pull a flower from the woods,—

A monster with a glass

Computes the stamens in a breath,

And has her in a class.

Whereas I took the butterfly

Aforetime in my hat,

He sits erect in cabinets,

The clover-bells forgot.

What once was heaven, is zenith now.

Where I proposed to go

When time’s brief masquerade was done,

Is mapped, and charted too!

What if the poles should frisk about

And stand upon their heads!

I hope I ’m ready for the worst,

Whatever prank betides!

Perhaps the kingdom of Heaven’s changed!

I hope the children there

Won’t be new-fashioned when I come,

And laugh at me, and stare!

I hope the father in the skies

Will lift his little girl,—

Old-fashioned, naughty, everything,—

Over the stile of pearl!