On a full-moon night, the speaker listens to insects singing with wild energy. The moonlight is like wine spilled from a golden goblet, and the insects seem drunk on it, trembling with excitement. Most of their voices sound joyful, full of dance and celebration, but the speaker hears one note of sadness and ghostliness underneath the noise. That single mournful song draws him in. He imagines it belongs to spirits who have returned to earth, still needing to finish songs they left uncompleted in life. A song cannot rest until it is fully sung, and neither, it seems, can the speaker. By the final lines, he wonders if these night sounds are really the cry of his own feverish, wounded heart. The mood is intoxicated but lonely—beautiful, restless, and quietly sorrowful.
Songs of Insects — Summary
Under the night of full breath, Fired by the wine the golden goblet-moon spilt, The insects are mad in their tremour of hearts : There are a thousand voices of joy and dance, But only one song of sadness and ghost.
O passionate song of ones, I believe, returned to the ground, Now awakening to the sad songs they still left unsung ! The spirit of a song is never content till it is fully sung : O the passionate songs of night and wounded heart, Are they not the cry of my soul of fever and dream ?