Witchery. [Frank Dempster Sherman]

Out of the purple drifts, From the shadow sea of night, On tides of musk a moth uplifts Its weary wings of white.

Is it a dream or ghost Of a dream that comes to me, Here in the twilight on the coast, Blue cinctured by the sea?

Fashioned of foam and froth -- And the dream is ended soon, And lo, whence came the moon-white moth Comes now the moth-white moon!