The Mower to the Glow Worms
Andrew Marvell
1621 to 1678
Ye living lamps, by whose dear light
The nightingale does sit so late,
And studying all the summer night,
Her matchless songs does meditate ;
Ye country comets, that portend
No war nor prince’s funeral,
Shining unto no other end
Than to presage the grass’s fall;
Ye Glow-worms, whose officious flame
To wandering mowers shows the way,
That in the night have lost their aim,
And after foolish fires do stray ;
Your courteous lights in vain you waste,
Since Juliana here is come,
For she my mind hath so displaced,
That I shall never find my home.
Andrew Marvell's The Mower to the Glow Worms
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