Classic and Contemporary Poetry
FIREFLIES, by AGNES MARY F. ROBINSON Poet's Biography First Line: Tonight I watch the fireflies rise Last Line: But a new web could never weave. Alternate Author Name(s): Duclaux, Madame Emile; Darmesteter, Mary; Robinson, A. Mary F. Subject(s): Fireflies; Glowworms | ||||||||
I. TO-NIGHT I watch the fire-flies rise And shine along the air; They float beneath the starry skies, As mystical and fair, Above the hedge where dimly glows The deep gold of the Persian rose. I watch the fire-flies drift and float: Each is a dreamy flame, Star-coloured each, a starry mote, Like stars not all the same; But whiter some, or faintly green, Or wannest blue was ever seen. They cross and cross and disappear, And then again they glow; Still drifting faintly there and here, Still crossing to and fro, As though in all their wandering They wove a wide and shining thing. II. O fire-flies, would I knew the weft You have the weaving of! For, as I watch you move, bereft Of thought or will or love, I fear, O listless flames, you weave The fates of men who strive and grieve. The web of life, the weft of dreams, You weave it ceaselessly; A strange and filmy thing it seems, And made in mystery Of wind and darkness threaded through With light these heavens never knew. O pale, mysterious, wandering fire, Born of the earth, alive With the same breath that I respire, Who know and think and strive; You circle round me, stranger far Than any charm of any star! III. Ah me, as faint as you, as slight, As hopelessly remote As you, who still across the night Innumerably float, Intangible as you, I see The motives of our destiny. For ah, no angel of the stars, No guardian of the soul, Stoops down beyond the heavenly bars Our courses to control, But filled and nourished with our breath Are the dim hands that weave our death. They weave with many threads our souls, A subtle-tinted thing, So interwoven that none controls His own imagining; For every strand with other strands They twine and bind with viewless hands. They weave the future of the past; Their mystic web is wrought With dreams from which we woke at last, And many a secret thought; For still they weave, howe'er we strive, The web new-woven for none alive. IV. And still the fire-flies come and go -- Each is a dreamy flame -- Still palely drifting to and fro The very way they came -- As though, across the dark they wove Fate and the shining web thereof. Yet, even were I sure of it, I would not lift a hand To break the threads that shine and flit -- For, ah, I understand: Ruin, indeed, I well might leave; But a new web could never weave. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...BIOLUMINESCENCE: 1. CANDELA by LEE ANN RORIPAUGH BIOLUMINESCENCE: 2. LAMBERT by LEE ANN RORIPAUGH BIOLUMINESCENCE: 3. LUMEN by LEE ANN RORIPAUGH BIOLUMINESCENCE: 4. LUCIFERIN by LEE ANN RORIPAUGH A DREAM, FR. SONGS OF INNOCENCE by WILLIAM BLAKE AN ORCHARD AT AVIGNON by AGNES MARY F. ROBINSON |
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