The Moth
TO-NIGHT a gilded moth took wing,
And round-a-round yon wax-light flew;
And, while his flight did her enring,
He nearer to the dazzler drew.
‘So fair art thou,’ he cried, 'to view,
I’d die upon thy lips to feed;’
And so must snatch a kiss and rue—
Ah, he was murder’d for the deed.
Autres oeuvres par Joseph Skipsey...
