Front matter

If this little world to-night Suddenly should fall thro’ space In a hissing, headlong flight, Shrivelling from off its face, As it falls into the sun, In an instant every trace Of the little crawling things— Ants, philosophers, and lice, Cattle, cockroaches, and kings, Beggars, millionaires, and mice, Men and maggots all as one As it falls into the sun— Who can say but at the same Instant from some planet far A child may watch us and exclaim: “See the pretty shooting star!”

If this little world to-night

In a hissing, headlong flight,

As it falls into the sun,

Of the little crawling things—

Cattle, cockroaches, and kings,

Men and maggots all as one

Who can say but at the same

A child may watch us and exclaim: