NATURE
FIREFLIES
Themurky night hung dank and darkThe Summer shower after;A distant dog’s staccato barkDisturbed the strollers’ laughter;The mournful whip-poor-will’s lament,The frogs’ and crickets’ chorusA weird, sepulchral feeling lentTo meadow-lot and morass.A thousand insect-lanterns flashedTheir phosphorescent signalsOf living sparks that dot-and-dashedOut swift electric riddles;For scarcely was the eye uponA single tiny glowlightWhen wink, it flitted and was goneLike prankish imp on show-night!And while one guessed its next surpriseAfar from where it dwindledA myriad others to the eyesAll intercrossed and kindledUntil the ghostly gloom becameIllumined with manœuvresAs though of fairies fanning flameWithin a park of lovers.And thus does fancy people nightWith fugitive creationsOf phantom-folk whose fitful lightYet feeds our inspirationsAnd teaches us there is no darkBut fellowships the presenceOf every soul that sheds its sparkOf humble incandescence.
Themurky night hung dank and darkThe Summer shower after;A distant dog’s staccato barkDisturbed the strollers’ laughter;The mournful whip-poor-will’s lament,The frogs’ and crickets’ chorusA weird, sepulchral feeling lentTo meadow-lot and morass.A thousand insect-lanterns flashedTheir phosphorescent signalsOf living sparks that dot-and-dashedOut swift electric riddles;For scarcely was the eye uponA single tiny glowlightWhen wink, it flitted and was goneLike prankish imp on show-night!And while one guessed its next surpriseAfar from where it dwindledA myriad others to the eyesAll intercrossed and kindledUntil the ghostly gloom becameIllumined with manœuvresAs though of fairies fanning flameWithin a park of lovers.And thus does fancy people nightWith fugitive creationsOf phantom-folk whose fitful lightYet feeds our inspirationsAnd teaches us there is no darkBut fellowships the presenceOf every soul that sheds its sparkOf humble incandescence.
Themurky night hung dank and darkThe Summer shower after;A distant dog’s staccato barkDisturbed the strollers’ laughter;The mournful whip-poor-will’s lament,The frogs’ and crickets’ chorusA weird, sepulchral feeling lentTo meadow-lot and morass.
Themurky night hung dank and dark
The Summer shower after;
A distant dog’s staccato bark
Disturbed the strollers’ laughter;
The mournful whip-poor-will’s lament,
The frogs’ and crickets’ chorus
A weird, sepulchral feeling lent
To meadow-lot and morass.
A thousand insect-lanterns flashedTheir phosphorescent signalsOf living sparks that dot-and-dashedOut swift electric riddles;For scarcely was the eye uponA single tiny glowlightWhen wink, it flitted and was goneLike prankish imp on show-night!
A thousand insect-lanterns flashed
Their phosphorescent signals
Of living sparks that dot-and-dashed
Out swift electric riddles;
For scarcely was the eye upon
A single tiny glowlight
When wink, it flitted and was gone
Like prankish imp on show-night!
And while one guessed its next surpriseAfar from where it dwindledA myriad others to the eyesAll intercrossed and kindledUntil the ghostly gloom becameIllumined with manœuvresAs though of fairies fanning flameWithin a park of lovers.
And while one guessed its next surprise
Afar from where it dwindled
A myriad others to the eyes
All intercrossed and kindled
Until the ghostly gloom became
Illumined with manœuvres
As though of fairies fanning flame
Within a park of lovers.
And thus does fancy people nightWith fugitive creationsOf phantom-folk whose fitful lightYet feeds our inspirationsAnd teaches us there is no darkBut fellowships the presenceOf every soul that sheds its sparkOf humble incandescence.
And thus does fancy people night
With fugitive creations
Of phantom-folk whose fitful light
Yet feeds our inspirations
And teaches us there is no dark
But fellowships the presence
Of every soul that sheds its spark
Of humble incandescence.