| Edmund Clarence Stedman, ed. (1833–1908). An American Anthology, 1787–1900. 1900. |
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| 1714. To a Moth |
| | | Crushed within the Leaves of an Iliad |
| | | By Charles Edward Thomas |
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| POOR Creature! nay, I ’ll not say poor, | |
| Why, surely, thou art wondrous blest; | |
| Right royal is this sepulchre | |
| Fate gave thee for thy last long rest. | |
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| See here—’t is but two lines above | 5 |
| The spot that marks thy early tomb— | |
| Here Paris breathes his burning love | |
| To her who compassed Ilia’s doom. | |
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| And here, upon a neighboring page, | |
| The great Achilles moans his friend, | 10 |
| All careless, in his kingly rage, | |
| Of bane or curse the gods may send. | |
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| Above, below thee, everywhere, | |
| Fierce Trojan strives with wily Greek; | |
| And mighty lords, with tawny hair, | 15 |
| Deep words of war and wisdom speak. | |
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| The high gods gaze upon thee here, | |
| Great warriors guard thy resting-place— | |
| Perchance thou see’st a burning tear | |
| Steal down Briseis’ home-turned face. | 20 |
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| Ay! rest content, for thou hast won | |
| A tomb that kings might wish in vain; | |
| About thee shines the all-seeing sun, | |
| And roars the many-sounding main. | |
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