Iii

The sphinx-moth, clothed in downy hues, In woolly whites and fawns and blues, Goes fluttering through the evening dews.

Above the nicotiana's blooms' Narcotic horns it waves its plumes, Made drowsy with the drugged perfumes.

It seems some Fairy Queen who goes 'Mid trumpets lifted in long rows Of white whereon the Elfworld blows.

Attendant and triumphant strains Of fragrance, greeting her who reigns, Who takes the air in fairy lanes Of flowers, that the moonlight stains.