Isled in the midnight air, Musked with the dark's faint bloom, Out into glooming and secret haunts The flame cries, 'Come!' Lovely in dye and fan, A-tremble in shimmering grace, A moth from her winter swoon Uplifts her face: Stares from her glamorous eyes; Wafts her on plumes like mist; In ecstasy swirls and sways To her strange tryst. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...THE CAPTIVE LION by WILLIAM HENRY DAVIES ON A LUTE FOUND IN A SARCOPHAGUS by EDMUND WILLIAM GOSSE SONNET: 9 by JAMES RUSSELL LOWELL FEELINGS OF A REPUBLICAN ON THE FALL OF BONAPARTE by PERCY BYSSHE SHELLEY ASTROPHEL AND STELLA: FOURTH SONG by PHILIP SIDNEY THE OLD SCHOOL HOUSE by ALEXANDER ANDERSON |