Monday
The Mower to the Glo-Worms
- Andrew Marvell
i
Ye living Lamps, by whose dear light
The Nightingale does sit so late,
And studying all the Summer-night,
Her matchless Songs does meditate;
ii
Ye Country Comets, that portend
No War, nor Princes funeral,
Shining unto no higher end
Then to presage the Grasses fall;
iii
Ye Glo-worms, whose officious Flame
To wandring Mowers shows the way,
That in the Night have lost their aim,
And after foolish Fires do stray;
iv
Your courteous Lights in vain you wast,
Since Juliana here is come,
For She my Mind hath so displac'd
That I shall never find my home.Happy
Birthday,
chris21718
and phaedra13!
Life
Sleeeepy...
And I certainly had enough sleep.
Ah, well; more coffee later?
^_^