Christmas
-
-
The night is dark and my messenger moth
Has the weight of my love to bear,
To fly to the light of thy laughing eyes,
And lay down his burden there.The sun shall arise to gild the snow,
That hushes each human tread,
My love shall wait thy door, sweetheart,
Where my messenger moth lies dead. (GB)Natural history was a great fascination to the Victorians and butterfly collecting was a popular pastime. Rare and beautiful specimens of butterflies and moths were collected from fields and displayed in glass cases, to be both studied and admired.
Date unknown.
Location: Early and Fine Printing Collection Box Number 816469
