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Woman, A Poem

By Eaton Stannard Barrett ... Occasional Poems
  

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SONNET. THE BUTTERFLY.
  


114

SONNET. THE BUTTERFLY.

Where flowerets hung reflected o'er the brook,
A harmless Butterfly my path beset;
Itself a flying flower, and pinions shook,
Of starry gold, and azure edged with jet.

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Abrupt I caught it, and a pinion tore.
The mangled thing into a lily fell;
Nor all my nurture could its soul restore,
Nor all the dewy odours of the bell.
It died within the flower it loved so well.
Thus nymphs, untreasured of fair virtue, lie
Forlorn amid their native vales, and die.