The Flame Poem by Charles Hanson Towne
The Flame
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!
Saturday, April 3, 2010
Topic(s) of this poem: fate
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8/28/2026 6:31:35 PM # rel_20260827T145718Z_a0f1bd3
