The Glow-Worm To Her Love

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BENEATH cool ferns, in dewy grass,
  Among the leaves that fringe the stream,
I hear the feet of lovers pass,
  --I hide all day, and dream.


But when the night, with wide soft wings,
  Droops on the trembling waiting wood,
And lulls the restless woodland things
  Within its solitude,


Ah, then my soft green lamp I light,
  That thou may'st find me by its fire--
Come, crown me, O my winged delight
  My darling, my desire.


Yet they who praise the lamp I bear
  Have never a word of praise for thee,
My love, my life, my King of Air,
  Who lightest the lamp in me.


Thine, thine should be the praise they give
  My King, who art all praise above,
Since but for thee I dream and live,
  And light the lamp of love.

© Edith Nesbit