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Moth and Candle |
Why is the moth your lover, O flame,
Giving life in a yielding move? |
You make its ways the quicksilver’s ways.
You taught it, what rites of love? |
The creature circles around your flare.
How burnt in your flash of sight! |
Does it know life’s peace in the throes of death?
Life endures in your ardour bright? |
Had your lustre not been in the world’s house of woe
The tree of hot love had not been green. |
Moth sinks before you making its prayer,
Frail heart to feel scorching keen. |
It must throb like one loving the beauty of old:
Small prophet! small mountain of fire! |
The moth with its urge to envisage the flame!
Poor worm, with its light’s desire! |
Translated by: H.T. Sorley |
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