Songs and Sonnets (Coleman)/Candle-flame

by Helena Jane Coleman

CANDLE-FLAME.

 

Hast singed thy pretty wings, poor moth?
Fret not; some moths there be
That wander all the weary night,
Longing in vain to see
The light.

Hast felt the scorching flame, poor heart?
Grieve not; some hearts exist
That know not, grow not to be strong,
And weep not, having missed
The song.