In a blossoming garden at dusk, an old couple sits quietly while Love—imagined as a wordless presence—nestles close between them. They watch fireflies pulse with pale green light in the heavy white dew. The speaker grows almost desperate at the scene’s beauty, asking the roses to stop blooming and the dew to put out the fireflies before they “light the little paths to sorrow.” There is a feeling that the earth is too lovely, and the couple too old and tired to bear what such beauty might awaken or lead toward. By the end, the man and woman sit with calm, closed eyes, while Love alone, with folded wings, watches the last fireflies. The mood is hushed, tender, and bittersweet—full of love, aging, and the ache of fleeting beauty.
Fireflies — Summary
An old, old couple in a blossoming garden. . . . Love, inarticulate, nestles close between them. And the old woman and the old man. And Love,
Sit watching fireflies. . . . Tiny torches flashing with pale, green light In the heavy white dew.
Oh roses. . .roses. . .roses. . .cease your blossoming! Kind crystal dew Put out the firefly torches
Before they light the little paths to sorrow. . . . Earth is too beautiful. . . . And the man and the woman are old, so old, And tired.
Now they sit quietly with calm, closed eyes. . . . Only Love, nestled close between them, And inarticulate, with folded wings, Watches the last of the fireflies in the dew.