24.06.2007, 18:42
II
Lo, through the open window of the room
That was her nursery, a small bright spark
Comes wandering in, as falls the summer dark,
And with a measured flight explores the gloom.
As if it sought, among the things that loom
Vague in the dusk, for sume familiar mark,
And like a light on some wee unseen bark,
It tacks in search of who knows what or whom.
I know 'tis but a fire-fly; yet its flight,
So straight, so measured, round the empty bed,
Might be a little soul's that night sets free;
And as it nears, I feel my heart grow tight
With something like a superstitious dread,
And watch it breathless, lest it should be she.
Lo, through the open window of the room
That was her nursery, a small bright spark
Comes wandering in, as falls the summer dark,
And with a measured flight explores the gloom.
As if it sought, among the things that loom
Vague in the dusk, for sume familiar mark,
And like a light on some wee unseen bark,
It tacks in search of who knows what or whom.
I know 'tis but a fire-fly; yet its flight,
So straight, so measured, round the empty bed,
Might be a little soul's that night sets free;
And as it nears, I feel my heart grow tight
With something like a superstitious dread,
And watch it breathless, lest it should be she.