The Moth, The Rose, And The Pink

White as snow I saw it sink On the pungent-petaled pink Through the moonlit dusk; Moth? or fairy? or, who knows?-- Ghost, perhaps, of some dead rose 'Mid the roses' musk.

Then it seemed I heard a sweet Tinkle as of elfin feet Underneath the blooms, Where one rose hung desolate, Sick of heart and filled with hate, Dead with its perfumes.

"Thou, for whom I died to-day," So I seemed to hear it say, "Listen, lovely pink: Vampire-like, unto thy heart Now I send, through my white art, My pale ghost to drink."