A speaker pauses on a dark hillside and notices a glow-worm shining in the grass. Its steady green light becomes the center of everything: the hills, the river valley, and the thickets all fade into darkness around it. The night feels like a huge emptiness, and the people watching seem like small lost shadows. They carry the glow-worm back to an enclosed garden, where the same thing happens—flowers, walls, houses, and the whole town seem to waver and dissolve, leaving only that small clear light.
It’s a quiet, almost hypnotic description of how a tiny point of brightness can make the rest of the world feel unreal. The mood is hushed and eerie but full of wonder. The speaker seems both amazed and slightly unsettled by how small and fragile human presence feels in the vast dark.