The Moth-Signal (On Egdon Heath)
'What are you still, still thinking,
He asked in vague surmise,
'That you stare at the wick unblinking
With those great lost luminous eyes?'
'O, I see a poor moth burning
In the candle-flame,' said she,
'Its wings and legs are turning
To a cinder rapidly.'
'Moths fly in from the heather,'
He said, 'now the days decline.'
'I know,' said she. 'The weather,
I hope, will at last be fine.
'I think,' she added lightly,
'I'll look out at the door.
The ring the moon wears nightly,
May be visible now no more.
She rose, and, little heeding,
Her husband then went on
With his attentive reading
In the annals of ages gone.
Outside the house a figure
Came from the tumulus near,
And speedily waxed bigger,
And clasped and called her Dear.
'I saw the pale-winged token
You sent through the crack,' sighed she.
'That moth is burnt and broken
With which you lured out me.
'And were I as the moth is
It might be better far
For one whose marriage troth is
Shattered as potsherds are!'
Then grinned the Ancient Briton
From the tumulus treed with pine:
'So, hearts are thwartly smitten
In these days as in mine!'
poem by Thomas Hardy
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Related quotes
Pot And Kettle
Come close to me, dear Annie, while I bind a lover's knot.
A tale of burning love between a kettle and a pot.
The pot was stalwart iron and the kettle trusty tin,
And though their sides were black with smoke they bubbled love within.
Forget that kettle, Jamie, and that pot of boiling broth,
I know a dismal story of a candle and a moth.
For while your pot is boiling and while your kettle sings
My moth makes love to candle flame and burns away his wings.
Your moth, I envy, Annie, that died by candle flame,
But here are two more lovers, unto no damage came.
There was a cuckoo loved a clock and found her always true.
For every hour they told their hearts, 'Ring! ting! Cuckoo! Cuckoo!'
As the pot boiled for the kettle, as the kettle for the pot,
So boils my love within me till my breast is glowing hot.
As the moth died for the candle, so could I die for you.
And my fond heart beats time with yours and cries, 'Cuckoo! Cuckoo!'
poem by Robert Graves
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The Moth
The Moth
Goes near it
To seek some light
In its world of darkness
To seek some respite
In its desolate life
To seek some warmth
In its search for love,
Care and belongingness…
The Moth goes near it
Hoping to find
Some acceptance
Some reciprocation
Of its burning desire
For that source of light
But try as he might
He fails, he fails
And he miserably fails…
Every time he goes to it
He comes back
With less of warmth
And a lot less care…
Burns and Scalds
On its bruised body
Because of the Light
That hardly cares
To share its luminance
To shower its radiance
On this hapless victim
Of its crude ignorance…
And yet the Moth
Madly in love
Dedicated to its light
That source of “delight”
Which it hopes
Would be for him
One day –
And pine for him
As he does for her…
He would win over it,
Come what may…
Goes seeking her
Night after night
And every night
He returns back
Burned and scalded
As ever before…
So with all these scalds
And scars of burns
Which he accepts
As the kind
Give-aways
Of his beloved light,
Tired yet devoted
With wings so torn
He can hardly fly…
He still makes
One last attempt
To appease his Beloved -
That luminous light
On one last night.
And he burns and burns
And he so badly burns
His body in ashes…
All over his Beloved’s
Flame of Light.
And in that moment
Of despair and death
Not just the night
Mourns this grave loss
Of love and longing…
The candle-light
Burning bright
For all these nights
Realises the depth
Of the Moth’s
Eternal love for her…
And in a sense of shock
Gives up itself
To the world of
Darkness and Death.
So now the burnt-out,
Withered Wick
Remains the stoic witness
To tell this tragic tale
Of the Moth and the Light
How they met every night
Yet there was no love
Lost nor gained,
Neither realised
Nor reciprocated.
And yet when they couldn’t
Unite in life…
Death found a way out
Heralding their sacred union
In the after-life.
Amen!
poem by Aparna Chatterjee
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Erotomania-A Delusion of Love
A moth or an innocent boy
Or incessantly talking toy
Caught helplessly
In a nature’s ploy:
Thought flame loves me
Thought dame thinks of me
Thought ma’am cares for me.
All the while
The flame
with a flickering smile
burning in a opaque
lamp of guile
with a global
all devouring vision
and feeding with oil of treason
Saw a moth adamant on
self sacrificing mission
The hypnotized moth
went near
a flame with glee
and made love making
earnest plea
And the cunning flame
Gladly reply
Yeah.
Flame knew moth had
Erotomania- A delusion of love
Soon he would be devoured
As hyena devours dove
Then,
Alluring flame-an enticing threat
Beckoned him for a embraced great
Then licking the moth with
A tongue of death
She sucked away
His laboring breath.
Lo! Comes
One more moth
on the trot,
Attired in a martyr’s coat,
Burning in a heartrending
passions hot,
Bubbling like a
love stewed broth;
Trying to cross
A death filled moat
In a love tiled
porous boat,
While vainly trying
to remain afloat
The hypnotized moth
went near
the flame with glee
and made love making's
earnest plea
And the cunning flame
Gladly reply
Yeah!
Dr Hitesh C Sheth
11/12/2008
poem by Hitesh Sheth
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The moth hound
Of a coon hound
you have heard
there's plenty around
i have found
a very strange dog
who's nothing, but a moth hound
when ever, you see
he sees a moth near by
the moth trys to flee,
it isn't no match
as my dog goes after the moth,
and makes a wonderful catch
he eats it all the way
and chews and swallows
he looks at me, now he wants to play
Japan
Today I pass the time reading
a favorite haiku,
saying the few words over and over.
It feels like eating
the same small, perfect grape
again and again.
I walk through the house reciting it
and leave its letters falling
through the air of every room.
I stand by the big silence of the piano and say it.
I say it in front of a painting of the sea.
I tap out its rhythm on an empty shelf.
I listen to myself saying it,
then I say it without listening,
then I hear it without saying it.
And when the dog looks up at me,
I kneel down on the floor
and whisper it into each of his long white ears.
It's the one about the one-ton temple bell
with the moth sleeping on its surface,
and every time I say it, I feel the excruciating
pressure of the moth
on the surface of the iron bell.
When I say it at the window,
the bell is the world
and I am the moth resting there.
When I say it at the mirror,
I am the heavy bell
and the moth is life with its papery wings.
And later, when I say it to you in the dark,
you are the bell,
and I am the tongue of the bell, ringing you,
and the moth has flown
from its line
and moves like a hinge in the air above our bed.
poem by Billy Collins
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Fire-Caught
The gold moth did not love him
So, gorgeous, she flew away.
But the gray moth circled the flame
Until the break of day.
And then, with wings like a dead desire,
She fell, fire-caught, into the flame.
poem by Langston Hughes
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A Moth Slow Dancing In Flames
After dark
a solitary moth
clad in lackluster
traipsed across the humid air
circumnavigating dismal filigrees
like an ominous message
conveying the petrichor
It weathered the tedium
of its own gust
crumbling slivered dusts
and tread the astray thread
of light and warmth
to find a candle
weep floridly bright
Like hands reaching out -
hands shaped into
a house with an open hearth
it melted and undressed
while its sartorial flame
remain unscathed
The moth basked
in this unprecedented heraldry,
this munificent beauty
like how the wine
feign resplendence under
the moon's gentle bliss
and the moth spewed
the colours it eschewed
The saudade warmth
embraced the moth's cape
of shame and pride
and became its asylum
and gilded heaven
Slowly dancing in flames
because to burn out
is better than to fade away
poem by Norman Santos
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Moth To Flame, Or Flame To Moth?
two souls, one body,
two hearts, one breath.
the spirit made to fit the mouth....
the dream naked, hungers...
we are born inside
the faintest touch....
carried by a blade of hair,
the scent of a neck....
moth to flame,
or flame to moth?
one cannot exist
without the other!
cannot be complete
without mortar and brick...
laid perfectly seamless,
one lost inside the other!
poem by Eric Cockrell
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Simile
THE little Moth round candle turning,
Stops not till its wings are burning:
So woman, dazzled by man's wooing,
Rushes to her own undoing.
poem by Charlotte Dacre
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Desire
Resembling a moth around a burning paper
Is how I'm strained to you,
not capable of opposing your charm
There's not anything I can do,
and like that moth who flies too near
And sets its wing on fire,
I find I too have gone too near
because I'm burning with desire.
poem by Nikhil Chandwani
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To Have And Not To Hold
To have and not to hold
So hot yet so cold
My heart is in your hand
And yet you never stand
Close enough for me
to have my way
To love but not to keep
To laugh not to weep
Your eyes they go right through
And yet you never do
Anything to make me want to stay
Like a moth to a flame
Only I am to blame
Ba ba da ba ba ba
What can I do
Ba ba da ba ba ba
I go straight to you
Ba ba da ba ba ba
I've been told
You're to have
Not to hold
To look but not to see
To kiss but never be
The object of your desire
I'm walking on a wire
And there's no one at all
To break my fall
Like a moth to a flame
Only I am to blame
Ba ba da ba ba ba
What can I do
Ba ba da ba ba ba
I go straight to you
Ba ba da ba ba ba
I've been told
You're to have
Not to hold
You're to have not to hold
You're to have not to hold
Like a moth to a flame
Only I am to blame
Ba ba da ba ba ba
What can I do
Ba ba da ba ba ba
I go straight to you
Ba ba da ba ba ba
I've been told
You're to have
Not to hold
You're to have not to hold
You're to have not to hold
You're to have not to hold
song performed by by Madonna
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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To The Moth
It is dark, and yet alone you flitter hiding from unappreciative eyes
The contrast of the butterfly
soft fragile wings slipping through the dangers of the night
I envy the moth
that dances when the world slumbers
that sits alone on the windowsil under the silent song
of the moon
the brave little winged creature
growing in isolation
a sad reminder of the world
flourishing in the desolation
the perfect company
soft and sweet and silent
to whom
i wisper all my fears and troubles
someday dear moth
i will join you and we will
dance with shadows
and weave dreams from nightmares
whisper secrets
dance together
alone together
poem by Vice Haunt
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Moonlight Moth
When moonlight lit
Moth's light wings
It shone bit by bit
In deep silver strings
At moth's demise
Many moon lit swings
In well come improvise
It inverted things
It turned to grit
Silver wind disguise
And made moon a twilit
In its shining arise
poem by Pedro Cescon
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On the Second Day
On the second day,
The moth still sat, inert,
In the bowl of the urinal—
Still wedged between
The plastic of grating
Of the puck cover,
Still caressing
The deodorizing cake
That bakes in the warmth
Of several daily golden fountains:
In something personal.
By this time,
It had wings like wet,
Waxy tissue paper,
Folded to its body,
Which shribbled in
The humid, faux-sterile
Air.
The moth looked a paler shade,
Its skin warping to a half-way
Transparent wrinkle,
To a putrefied fold
Of dissolving empty space.
The poor moth.
I felt bad for it.
I tried to flush it again
To no avail,
So what else could I do?
I had to aim at the target
And take it down,
Sinking it momentarily
In the warmth of whatever
Left me,
Whatever traces of yerba mate
And morning shake might've
Percolated out
At 11: 14.
No offense to you, dear insect.
poem by Tim Stensloff
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Marriage is to bind.
A moth has no desire for the flower he had visited.
A man has less desire for the woman he had tasted.
A moth wants its nectar. A man wants discovery.
That is why he is tied to her by marriage.
20.03.2001, pmdi
poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
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Moth To A Flame
(s. kipner/p. bliss)
Here again drawn like a moth to a flame
An invisible force pulling me close to you
I cant break free
Theres some kind of hold over me
Like a magnet, you attract me like steel
Im a kamikaze pilot, its a one-way flight
Getting to you is getting to me
Must be lack of oxygen
Im a do or die fanatic, no rationale
Cause anyone else could tell
You dont stand a snowballs chance in hell
Moth to a flame
A fatal attraction
Im flying too close to the sun
Sooner or later, youre gonna get burned
Moth to a flame
A lethal reaction
Im loving you under the gun
Its just a matter of time before I get
Over my head in your quicksand bed
The more I struggle the more Im sucked in
Here again drawn like a moth to a flame
An invisible force pulling me close to you
Im a kamikaze pilot, its a one-way flight
Getting to you is getting to me
Must be lack of oxygen
Im a do or die fanatic, no rationale
Cause anyone else could tell
You dont stand a snowballs chance in hell
Moth to a flame
A fatal attraction
Im flying too close to the sun
Sooner or later, youre gonna get burned
Moth to a flame
A lethal reaction
Im loving you under the gun
Its just a matter of time before I get burned
Moth to a flame
A fatal attraction
Im flying too close to the sun
Sooner or later, youre gonna get burned
Moth to a flame
A lethal reaction
Im loving you under the gun
Its just a matter of time
Moth to a flame
Missing you in action
Im flying too close to the sun
Sooner or later, youre gonna get burned
Moth to a flame
A lethal reaction
Im loving you under the gun
Its just a matter of time
song performed by by Olivia Newton-John
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Human Tree
Many have Earth's lovers been,
Tried in seas and wars, I ween;
Yet the mightiest have I seen:
Yea, the best saw I.
One that in a field alone
Stood up stiller than a stone
Lest a moth should fly.
Birds had nested in his hair,
On his shoon were mosses rare.
Insect empires flourished there,
Worms in ancient wars;
But his eyes burn like a glass,
Hearing a great sea of grass
Roar towards the stars.
From, them to the human tree
Rose a cry continually,
'Thou art still, our Father, we
Fain would have thee nod.
Make the skies as blood below thee,
Though thou slay us, we shall know thee.
Answer us, O God!
'Show thine ancient flame and thunder,
Split the stillness once asunder,
Lest we whisper, lest we wonder
Art thou there at all?'
But I saw him there alone,
Standing stiller than a stone
Lest a moth should fall.
poem by G.K. Chesterton from The Wild Knight and Other Poems (1900)
Submitted by Veronica Serbanoiu
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Thats The Way Love Goes
Like a moth to a flame
Burned by the fire
My love is blind
Cant you see my desire?
Thats the way love goes
Like a moth to a flame
Burned by the fire
My love is blind
Cant you see my desire?
Like a moth to a flame
Burned by the fire
My love is blind
Cant you see my desire
Thats the way love goes
Like a moth to a flame
Burned by the fire
Thats the way love goes
My love is blind
Cant you see my desire?
Come with me
Dont you worry
Im gonna make you crazy
Ill give you the time of your life
Im gonna take you places
Youve never been before and
Youll be so happy that you came
Oooooh, Im gonna take you there
Oo-ooh hoo-ooh oo-ooh
Thats the way love goes
Hoo
Thats the way love goes
Thats the way love goes
Thats the way love goes
Dont mind if I light candles
I like to watch us play and
Baby, Ive got on what you like
Come closer
Baby closer
Reach out and feel my body
Im gonna give you all my love
Ooh sugar dont you hurry
Youve got me here all night
Just close your eyes and hold on tight
Ooh baby
Dont stop, dont stop
Go deeper
Baby deeper
You feel so good Im gonna cry
Oooooh Im gonna take your there
Oo-ooh hoo-ooh oo-ooh
Thats the way love goes
Hoo
Thats teh way love goes
Thats the way love goes it goes it goes
Oooh thats the way love goes
Reach out and feel my body
Thats the way love goes
Dontcha know
Thats the way
Like a moth to a flame
Burned by the fire
My love is blind
Cant you see my desire
Like a moth to a flame
Burned by the fire my love is blind
Cant you see my desire?
Thats the way love goes....
song performed by by Janet Jackson
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Wedding Ring Dance
I dance in circles holding
the moth of the marriage,
thin, sticky, fluttering
its skirts, its webs.
The moth oozing a tear,
or is it a drop of urine?
The moth, grinning like a pear,
or is it teeth
clamping the iron maiden shut?
The moth,
who is my mother,
who is my father,
who was my lover,
floats airily out of my hands
and I dance slower,
pulling off the fat diamond engagement ring,
pulling off the elopement wedding ring,
and holding them, clicking them
in thumb and forefinger,
the indent of twenty-five years,
like a tiny rip of a tiny earthquake.
Underneath the soil lies the violence,
the shift, the crack of continents,
the anger,
and above only a cut,
a half-inch space to stick a pencil in.
The finger is scared
but it keeps its long numb place.
And I keep dancing,
a sort of waltz,
clicking the two rings,
all of a life at its last cough,
as I swim through the air of the kitchen,
and the same radio plays its songs
and I make a small path through them
with my bare finger and my funny feet,
doing the undoing dance,
on April 14th, 1973,
letting my history rip itself off me
and stepping into
something unknown
and transparent,
but all ten fingers stretched outward,
flesh extended as metal
waiting for a magnet.
poem by Anne Sexton
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The Human Tree
Many have Earth's lovers been,
Tried in seas and wars, I ween;
Yet the mightiest have I seen:
Yea, the best saw I.
One that in a field alone
Stood up stiller than a stone
Lest a moth should fly.
Birds had nested in his hair,
On his shoon were mosses rare,
Insect empires flourished there,
Worms in ancient wars;
But his eyes burn like a glass,
Hearing a great sea of grass
Roar towards the stars.
From them to the human tree
Rose a cry continually:
`Thou art still, our Father, we
Fain would have thee nod.
Make the skies as blood below thee,
Though thou slay us, we shall know thee.
Answer us, O God!
`Show thine ancient fame and thunder,
Split the stillness once asunder,
Lest we whisper, lest we wonder
Art thou there at all?'
But I saw him there alone,
Standing stiller than a stone
Lest a moth should fall.
poem by Gilbert Keith Chesterton
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