Frank Dempster Sherman: 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!