Edit 3: On Actias

[danny_]

On Actias Somnium < The title requires research so, to be honest, quickly turned me off. I'm so glad I continued, the poem is really good. Edit: After research it's a rather fitting title, though.  

I found your wings, greener < It would seem to me more like the wings found you. Or it could be intended like, 'I find your wings attractive' which is true considering the following lines.
than the faraway willow tree in spring, adorned 
with tips as lissome as a sundown shaft of light, 
only more evasive of a starlit maw. I glow alike < Love the ending to stanza and line break following
 
and you come to me. Is it because I have no mouth  
to devour with, let alone speak these words? < Love the pondering of the dangerous light as to why the little aerial creature draws closer. 
 
If I did, I'd only tell you 
to stay on the wall you're perched. Do not draw too close < Did the bug land first before moving closer? It's now perched in this line. And perched sounds a bit like a bird. If it was a colored moth or butterfly, I would envision tender wings very still, flatly fanned against the side of some wall surface, listening to the curious light (silence of course). Also, if you don't mind something exciting, "Not too close!" or instead "Not so close..." ?
like so many of the grey-winged ones who tap my skin until 
they go up in flares of light and dust. < Just really nice imagery. As flares do "go up" I don't mind the use of this here. It gives an image of motion, momentary shooting sparks and smokey dust, then gone.
 
Get away. 
            Get away. 
Get away. 
 
^ Nice. "You don't understand how dangerous I am, and I am actually captivated by your beauty to the point I especially don't want you to suffer this fate that others do."

You singe your wings 
and morning came. < Past tense. I can't quite find words but I will share some images perhaps you could use somehow. Morning light will not tell of its absence, cannot explain what happened. Morning reveals the black-tipped candle wick or cold metal zapper hanging on a branch. Perhaps the trace of a singed wingtip in the wax, or adrift on a breeze somewhere far off. Sorry, now my imagination is going places, but I think I understand what you intended with this ending

I'd say put the whole thing in present tense. This is beautiful. The life of the poem comes from the personification. You've inspired me to try personification in a poem; I wonder if I've ever even done it. Thanks for sharing this work.