Page:A Treasury of South African Poetry.djvu/131

Rh Like moths and butterflies they rise
 * From secret cells of waking thought,
 * And see strange light and come to naught,

And vanish swiftly, dewdrop-wise.

And no man knoweth where they keep
 * Their revels strange in waking hours;
 * They fleet like summer-smitten flowers,

When eyelids feel the kiss of sleep. W. C. Scully.