IF this little world to-night
Suddenly should fall through 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!”
_Oliver Herford._