Witchery

Out of the purple drifts,
   From the shadow sea of night,
On tides of musk a moth uplifts
   Its weary wings of white.

Is it a dream or ghost
   Of a dream that comes to me,
Here in the twilight on the coast,
   Blue cinctured by the sea?

Fashioned of foam and froth --
   And the dream is ended soon,
And lo, whence came the moon-white moth
   Comes now the moth-white moon!

by Frank Dempster Sherman

Other poems of FRANK DEMPSTER SHERMAN (17)

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