 | Western windows and other poems |  |
228
MOTHS.
At morn I walk in sunshine warm and tender;
My eyes look into Fairyland for hours:
The butterflies with Eastern lust and splendor
Grow wingéd counterparts to wingless flowers.
My eyes look into Fairyland for hours:
The butterflies with Eastern lust and splendor
Grow wingéd counterparts to wingless flowers.
At noon I dream in meadows sweet and sunny;
My heart with summer songs and perfume glows:
The bees on sunburnt voyages for honey
Reach their Hesperides in every rose.
My heart with summer songs and perfume glows:
The bees on sunburnt voyages for honey
Reach their Hesperides in every rose.
At eve I write by restless lamplight sitting;
My soul is full of shadowy, subtile things:
The ghostly moths around my lamp are flitting,
Guests of the light that, coming, lose their wings.
My soul is full of shadowy, subtile things:
The ghostly moths around my lamp are flitting,
Guests of the light that, coming, lose their wings.
My poems, butterflies at morning gleaming,
And bees at noon, are but vague moths at night:
Look, the flame beckons—from the darkness streaming,
Wingless they drop at thresholds of the light!
And bees at noon, are but vague moths at night:
Look, the flame beckons—from the darkness streaming,
Wingless they drop at thresholds of the light!
| Western windows and other poems | |