Poem by Thomas Moore

To the Fire‑Fly

At morning, when the earth and sky
Are glowing with the light of spring,
We see thee not, thou humble fly!
Nor think upon thy gleaming wing.

But when the skies have lost their hue,
And sunny lights no longer play,
Oh then we see and bless thee too
For sparkling o'er the dreary way.

Thus let me hope, when lost to me
The lights that now my life illume,
Some milder joys may come, like thee,
To cheer, if not to warm, the gloom!

1. From “Irish Melodies”. 41. Lesbia Hath a Beaming Eye
2. From “The Odes of Anacreon”. Ode 32
3. From “Irish Melodies”. 47. What the Bee Is to the Floweret
4. From “Irish Melodies”. 120. Oh, Could We Do with This World of Ours
5. From “Irish Melodies”. 48. Love and the Novice

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