The Mower to the Glowworms - Andrew Marvell

The Mower to the Glowworms

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 princes funeral,
Shining unto no higher end
Than to presage the grasses' fall;

Ye glowworms, 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 displaced

That I shall never find my home.