 | Sonnets of the Wingless Hours |  |
80
FIREFLIES.
Now one by one the live winged sparks of night,
Like souls allowed to wander as they please
Through old loved haunts, go by between the trees
In silent zigzags of alternate light;
Like souls allowed to wander as they please
Through old loved haunts, go by between the trees
In silent zigzags of alternate light;
And grow in number, bodiless and bright,
So that the eye, too slow to count them, sees
Nothing but fire all round; till by degrees
Quenched in the dawn, they vanish from the sight.
So that the eye, too slow to count them, sees
Nothing but fire all round; till by degrees
Quenched in the dawn, they vanish from the sight.
And those more subtle sparks, which they recall,
The countless souls with which regret and love
Once peopled Death's great night, are they quenched too?
The countless souls with which regret and love
Once peopled Death's great night, are they quenched too?
Has Thought's strong dawn, which searches into all,
Reached even them, unpeopling Heaven above,
To leave us nothing but the empty blue?
Reached even them, unpeopling Heaven above,
To leave us nothing but the empty blue?
| Sonnets of the Wingless Hours | |