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The fire-fly flashes through the sky,
A meteor swift and bright,
And all below, around, on high,
Gleams with its emerald light:
Though glory tracks that shooting star,
And bright its splendours shine,
The glowworm's lamp is dearer far
To this sad heart of mine.
Throughout the summer year the flowers
In all the flush of bloom,
Clust'ring around the forest bowers,
Exhale their rich perfume;
The daisy and the primrose pale,
Though scentless they may be,
That gem a far, far distant vale,
Are much more prized by me.
