Fire-Flies

The sun was gone and the night grew dark,

    And Allie and Belle were late;

But they knew the way by many a mark,

The tall black rocks, and the tree-trunks stark,

    And the rustic bower by the gate.

The meadows were gay with a thousand lights

    Of golden emerald-green;

Hither and thither, their wavering flights

Lamped the hollows and starred the heights,—

    Their dusky forms unseen

The joy and the wonder, who can tell,

    Of the little loiterers there?

“A million fairies, I guess,” said Belle,

“Are having a torch-dance down in the dell,

    A star-dance up in the air!”