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