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The Mower to the Glo-Worms

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Andrew Marvell‘s poem “The Mower to the Glo-Worms”:

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 higher end
Then to presage the Grass’s fall;

Ye Glo-worms, whose officious Flame
To wand’ring 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 displac’d
That I shall never find my home.

Written by uncudh

April 11, 2009 at 5:05 pm

Posted in literature

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