The Wasp Trap

THIS moonlight makes The lovely lovelier Than ever before lakes And meadows were.

And yet they are not, Though this their hour is, more Lovely than things that were not Lovely before.

Nothing on earth, And in the heavens no star, For pure brightness is worth More than that jar,

For wasps meant, now A star--long may it swing From the dead apple-bough, So glistening.