The Moth to the Sun

I longed for thee when first I crawled to consciousness.

My dreams were all of thee when in the chrysalis I lay.

Oft myriads of my kind beat out their lives

Against some feeble spark once caught from thee.

And one hour mote-and my poor life is gone.

Yet my last effort, as my first desire, shall be

But to approach thy glory; the, have gained

One raptured glance, I’ll die content,

For I, the source of beauty, warmth, and life

Have in his perfect splendor beheld!


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