Once Stella to her Moth was dear,
And Moth then promised to be true,
And Stella thought her Moth sincere,
But ah, the truth too soon she knew.
Moth said to this, her Polar Star,
She’d frequent guide her evening flight,
Borne on her emerald pinions far
To hover around her friendly light.
And Stella said that she would prove
Still faithful to her airy sprite
Like the bright Pole Star, cease to move,
And shine with ever-steady light.
But like her kindred race, that borne
On waving plumes, thro’ Flora’s bower
Sip all the nectared dews of morn,
From every lovely, fragrant flower
Thus Stella’s Moth is faithless found
Forgets her wonted course to steer,
Some newer star she hovers round,
And vows, as erst, to be sincere.
And many a tedious, lonely night
Has faithful Stella lately passed,
In watching for her roving sprite
Long looked for, nor beheld at last.