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
The Moth was written by Lennox Berkeley & Walter de la Mare.