Sonnet 58. The Glow-Worm WHEN on some balmy-breathing night of Spring The happy child, to whom the world is new, Pursues the evening moth, of mealy wing, Or from the heath-bell beats the sparkling dew; He sees before his inexperienced eyes The brilliant Glow-worm, like a meteor, shine On the turf-bank;--amazed, and pleased, he cries, "Star of the dewy grass!--I make thee mine!"-- Then, ere he sleep, collects "the moisten'd" flower, And bids soft leaves his glittering prize enfold, And dreams that Fairy-lamps illume his bower: Yet with the morning shudders to behold His lucid treasure, rayless as the dust! --So turn the world's bright joys to cold and blank disgust. |
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