Page:Morning-Glories and Other Stories.djvu/208

Rh My fairy form passed quite away; Alas! I'd gladly die, For 'tis my punishment to be  A wandering firefly. Ah! now I long for all I've lost: My mates are flown away; The birds and bees I pine to see, But cannot seek by day. I haunt the flowers all the night. Hoping a home to win,— The doors are shut: all are asleep: I knock; none let me in. I'm tired of the friends I made; I hate the teasing gnat, The hooting owl, the cricket shrill. The beetle, and the bat. My only mates are the poor moths; They seek and love the light. Though they, like me, sleep all day long, And only fly by night Once they were butterflies, you know, And floated in the sun; But they are doomed to expiate The wrongs which they have done, By madly longing for the shine That blinds their feeble eye, Yet draws them, like a dreadful spell, To flutter, burn, and die. O little child! be warned in time; Guard well your bosom spark, Else it will slowly fade away, And leave you in the dark. Feed it with all things fair and good: Then gloomy clouds may roll, But cannot shadow in your life,— Tis sunshine of the soul.