Page:Poems Terry, 1861.djvu/58

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54
The desire of the moth.
Round a flame more wildly burning,
And, with heart too fond and yearning,
  Heard no charmer's song.

   Blinder than a miller
Hovering with devoted gaze,
Where such visions vain I cherish,
Either they or I must perish,
  Like that flickering blaze.

   But the moonlight, miller,
Better far befits our mirth;
That calm, streaming light is given
From the silent depths of heaven;
  Fire is born of earth!