Amy Lowell

OUR meeting was like the upward swish of a rocket

In the blue night.

I do not know when it burst;

But now I stand gaping,

In a glory of falling stars.

Hola! Hola! shouts the crowd, as the catherine-wheels sputter and turn.

Hola! They cheer the flower-pots and set pieces.

And nobody heeds the cries of a young man in shirt-sleeves,

Who has burnt his fingers setting them off.

III

A King and Queen, and a couple of Generals,

Flame in colored lights;

Putting out the stars,

And making a great glare over the people wandering among the booths.

They are very beautiful and impressive,

And all the people say “Ah!”

By and by they begin to go out,

Little by little.

The King’s crown goes first,

Then his eyes,

Then his nose and chin.

The Queen goes out from the bottom up,

Until only the topmost jewel of her tiara is left.

Then that, too, goes;

And there is nothing but a frame of twisted wires,

With the stars twinkling through it.