Isled In The Midnight Air, Musked With The Dark'S Faint Bloom, Out Into Glooming And Secret Haunts The Flame Cries, 'Come!' Lovely In Dye And Fan, A-Tremble In Shimmering Grace, A Moth From Her Winter Swoon Uplifts Her Face: Stares From Her Glamorous Eyes; Wafts Her On Plumes Like Mist; In Ecstasy Swirls And Sways To Her Strange Tryst.