To Moth

Miss Porden

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.