The Moth, the Rose, and the Pink

White as snow I saw it sink
On the pungent-petaled pink
Through the moonlit dusk;
Moth? or fairy? or, who knows?--
Ghost, perhaps, of some dead rose
'Mid the roses' musk.

Then it seemed I heard a sweet
Tinkle as of elfin feet
Underneath the blooms,
Where one rose hung desolate,
Sick of heart and filled with hate,
Dead with its perfumes.

"Thou, for whom I died to-day,"
So I seemed to hear it say,
"Listen, lovely pink:
Vampire-like, unto thy heart
Now I send, through my white art,
My pale ghost to drink."