Isled in the midnight air, <br />Musked with the dark's faint bloom, <br />Out into glooming and secret haunts <br />The flame cries, 'Come!' <br /> <br />Lovely in dye and fan, <br />A-tremble in shimmering grace, <br />A moth from her winter swoon <br />Uplifts her face: <br /> <br />Stares from her glamorous eyes; <br />Wafts her on plumes like mist; <br />In ecstasy swirls and sways <br />To her strange tryst.<br /><br />Walter de la Mare<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/the-moth-10/
