'^Her bright gray form that spread so slimly. 



Some fan she seemed of pygmy Queen; 

 Her silky cloak that lay so trimly, 



Her wee, icee eyes that lookes so keen. 

 Poor moth! near iveeping I lament thee. 



Thy glassy form, thy instant ivoe; 

 'Tivas zeal for 'things too high' that sent thee. 

 From cheery earth to shades below.'' 



Carlyle. 



