The Flame
C
Charles Hanson Towne
0
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O moth, that yearns for me,
The whole world pities thee,
Foredoomed on heedless wing,
By mad fire-worshipping.
But sadder is my fate,
Who, when the night is late,
See thee in love come nigh,
At my caress to die!
When I would lend thee aid,
To death thou art betrayed;
Yea, I that love thee well,
I am thy heaven and hell!
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