32. Moths

Up from the gulfs of the dark,

Up from the depths of the night,

Floating up into the arc

Of the oil- lamp’s flickering light.

 

Fluttering patches that play

In a frenzy of passionate joy,

Luminous creatures of gray

Drawn to the dazzling toy.

 

Flapping their wings on the glass,

On the chimney-glass scorching their wings;

Eyes that all beauty surpass

Staring at commonplace things.

 

Creatures of delicate fur,

Airy as silvery froth;

Each but a luminous blur,

But a poor little bit of a moth.

 

Weeklt Times 14.4.61