The speaker in Winifred Welles’s “In Love” feels like a firefly straying through a daytime orchard—nearly invisible among white apple blossoms. Outwardly she seems grey or ordinary, but inside she is quietly “ablaze.” A lone red tulip catches her eye and seems to understand her, as if it were her own heart dropped into the grass. Love fills her with light she cannot show: her blood gleams like seafoam, her body brims with moonlight, and she shakes with the urge to unfold wings. By night, that hidden radiance would be unmistakable, so she shuts herself in—afraid that the people who see her as dull by day would stare if they saw her glowing gold after dark. The mood is tender, secretive, and a little lonely.
In Love — Summary
No firefly more forlorn, more gravely strays Among the glories of the morning tree Than I, who glide almost invisibly Where apple boughs are white as brides' bouquets. Beneath the arches of the orchard ways, Only one tulip, that I start to see, As though my own heart had dropped out of me, Seems to have guessed that I, too, am ablaze.
My blood is full of gleamings like seafoam, My body brims with something of the moon And shakes, as if with wings that would unfold. So, after dark, I bar the doors of home, Lest those, who think that I am grey at noon, Should stare at night to see that I am gold.