THIS walled-in cube of candlelight
Is all my world — the rest is night;
I know where stand, on every hand,
Gigantic tree-shapes out of sight;
I saw them fade when, shade by shade,
The night grew thicker in their land,
Till at a match my candle burned,
And windows into mirrors turned.
A moth can put this world to shame:
I live as lives my candle flame;
These walls I see, which comfort me,
These windows where, as in a dream,
A shadow sits searching his wits,
Would all go out, and I should be
Disbodied, and my fear a spark
Of life upon the godless dark.
In stillness, now, of other things,
I hear the soft flutter of wings!