Half-shy and hesitant, a Something stays

One trembling instant where the sun is sweet,—

A quickening presence on these winter ways,

Haunting and swift—and gone on shining feet.

Yet, there was hint of coming daffodils,

And slender spears uprising on the lawn,

And apple-blossoms on the April hills ...

Only the timid prophetess was gone,

Leaving a faith as gallant as the grass,

How that these things would surely come to pass.

[33]

[33]

ON A DEAD MOTH

Who knows what trouble trembled in that throat,

What sweet distraction for the summer moon,

That lured you out, a frail, careering boat,

Across the midnight's purple, deep lagoon!

Some fire of madness lit that tiny brain,

Some soft propulsion clouded through your breast,

And lifted you, a white and moving stain

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