Classic Poem

Like gray moths tasting the scented world
When the young flowers wake in June,
They take the first breath of the summer, whirled
To the swift wind's daring tune.

Their thin wings glide through the docile air
And gleam at the gaudy day;
They skim the rich earth of her odors rare,
And silently flit away.

And when blue night sighs through her spheric dome
For the worlds that shine afar,
Like will-o'-the-wisps they come trooping home,
And each one bears a star.