Ye country Comets...

THE MOWER TO THE GLOW-WORMS

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 Glow-worms, whose officious Flame
To wandring 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.

Andrew Marvell