And so alive with fireflies
Providing us their holy light
And here we made a bed of boughs
And thistles-downs that we had found
To lay upon the dewy ground
Wasn’t it a lovely breeze,
The swept the leaves of arbor leaves?
And bent to brush our blushing knees
And here we died our little deaths
And we were left to catch our breaths
So swiftly lifting from our chests...