'Witchery'

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!

       -- Frank Dempster Sherman