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Andrew Marvell - The Mower To The Glow-Worms
Work rating: Medium

     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 county comets, that portend
    No war nor prince`s funeral,
    Shining unto no higher end
    Than to presage the grass`s fall;

    Ye glow-worms, whose officious flame
   To wand`ring 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.
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