The Mower to the Glo-Worms
I
Ye living Lamps, by whose dear light
The Nightingale does sit so late,
And studying all the Summer-night,
Her matchless Songs does meditate;
II
Ye Country Comets, that portend
No War, nor Prince's funeral,
Shining unto no higher end
Then to presage the Grasses fall;
III
Ye Glo-worms, whose officious Flame
To wandring Mowers shows the way,
That in the Night have lost their aim,
And after foolish Fires do stray;
IV
Your courteous Lights in vain you wast,
Since Juliana here is come,
For She my Mind hath so displac'd
That I shall never find my home.
|
by Andrew Marvell
(1621-1678)
See The Poems of Andrew Marvell, Harvard University Press, Cambridge, Massachusetts: 1973
the letter M
Something else (this-a-way)
Something or other (that-a-way)
Out of the Woods
"Wedgwood"
This site copyright (c) by Thomas Bolt. All rights reserved.
|
|