Ye living lamps, by whose dear light <br /> The nightingale does sit so late, <br /> And studying all the summer night, <br /> Her matchless songs does meditate; <br /> <br /> Ye county comets, that portend <br /> No war nor prince's funeral, <br /> Shining unto no higher end <br /> Than to presage the grass's fall; <br /> <br /> Ye glow-worms, whose officious flame <br /> To wand'ring mowers shows the way, <br /> That in the night have lost their aim, <br /> And after foolish fires do stray; <br /> <br /> Your courteous lights in vain you waste, <br /> Since Juliana here is come, <br /> For she my mind hath so displac'd <br /> That I shall never find my home.<br /><br />Andrew Marvell<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/the-mower-to-the-glow-worms/
