Old-Fashioned. By Emily Elizabeth Dickinson

    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!