Look!— where the fiery
Glow-worm in briery
Banks of the moon-mellowed bowers
Sparkles — how hazily
Pinioned and arily
Delicate, warily,
Drowsily, lazily,
Flutter the moths to the flowers.
White as the dreamiest
Bud of the creamiest
Rose in the garden that dozes,
See how they cling to them!
Held in the heart of their
Hearts like a part of their
Perfume they swing to them
Wings that are soft as the roses.
Dim as the forming of
Dew in the warming of
Moonlight, they light on the petals;
All is revealed to them;
All — from the sunniest
Tips to the honiest
Heart, whence they yield to them
Spice through the darkness that settles.
So to our tremulous
Souls come the emulous
Spirits of love; through whose power
All that is best in us,
All that is beautiful,
All that is dutiful,
Is made confessed in us,
Even as the scent of a flower.