A curse on those the full moon is lost on,
That comes only once a month.
A curse on this country,
On this dumb moon
That serene and brilliant shines
As if you were with me.
And there is even a nightingale
As in the books of a century ago;
But I made him fly off,
Far away, to the other side of the stream:
He is singing and I am alone,
And that isn’t getting anywhere.
Lightning bugs, I let them stay
(There were a lot along the path):
Not that their name is nearly yours,
But they are such mild and dear creatures
They make every worry disappear.
And if one day we should want to part,
And if one day we should want to marry,
I hope that day will be in June,
And there will be lightning bugs everywhere
Like tonight, when you’re not here.
June 28, 1946