37 minutes ago
Friday, July 06, 2012
Poetry Friday: Glow-Worms
The Mower to the Glow-Worms
by Andrew Marvell
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
Than to presage the grass’s fall;
Ye glow-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.
I love this sleepy summer poem, and the "country comets" that feel no need for a high purpose: it's enough for them to shine while they can, since summer will soon be over. The mower isn't paying any attention anyway; Juliana has "displac'd" his brain and he's wandering literally and metaphorically.
It's going to be a hot day where I am, even hotter than in Haiti. Maybe it will cool off enough this evening to chase some glow-worms.
Here's today's roundup.
Photo Credit: www.firefly.org