Here you will find the Poem The Moth of poet Walter de la Mare
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.
