And yet strong witchery draws to those wide jaws
Whose touch is shameful death.
See how the flattering things on painted wings, foolish as gnat-swarms near the shrivelling blaze,
Flock nearer, nearer! Forms, too, quainter, queerer, frog-dupes of folly, rabbit-thralls of craze,
Butterfly triflers, gay-plumed would-be riflers of golden chalices, of poisoned flowers,
Flitter and flutter in delirium utter,
As drawn by wizard powers.
Oh, "Painted Lady," Summer coverts shady, the greenwood home, the sweep of sunny fields,
A butterfly befit; but where's the wit that mire-befouled to the swamp-demon yields?
Oh, birds of Iris-glitter, black and bitter will be the wakening when those gaudy plumes